On this image is a woman with deep brown eyes, pale skin, loose wavy hair, and she's holding a direct gaze with the viewer. The settings around her look artsy, draped in a unique transparent, crinkled material.
The Glass Canvas
Clara looked at the portrait with admiration. Among her other art pieces, she loved this the most. It was a piece that reminded her of how gorgeous she looked in her prime, a time when she was the most sought-after muse in the city. Every time she stood before the portrait, she felt young and alive.
She remembered Mr. Judge, the young man behind the portrait. He had told her to look at the lens as if she was looking at the last person who ever spoke the truth to her. Every evening, before the gallery opened, she would stand in the dark and watch him stare at her likeness. They praised her haunted vulnerability and the timeless sorrow captured in her eyes. Those moments in the studio were the best parts of her life.
Now she was old and frail. Only her youngest daughter carried that aura, reminding her of those moments when her portrait was the talk of the town and her beauty an admiration to many before she met Williams, a young gentleman from Greece. She looked at the portrait this last time, knowing that by tomorrow morning, the frame would be empty—it was the last piece to be auctioned and she wasn't selling this gem for cheap coins.
