Countess Daria Chernyshova-Saltykova

Friday - always a joy in itself. I get to wear whatever I want to work, which for some reason always seems to change everything. Funny how fickle my attitude can be. All week I've been feeling a little down, a little low on much needed energy, a little introspective and introverted. I've been alone every evening... Friday, I'm awake. I'm free. After work I find myself continuing in my ever introversion and end up at an art exhibit. Seeking comfort from those who, though long gone, have portrayed the human condition so marvelously - marrying our similarities through the generations; a consolation to a weary soul comforted by the wearied. I entered the room peacefully and find myself surrounded by humans, the quizzical and portrayed. And with much needed classical music to keep my busy mind focused on my soul-refreshing, I popped in my earphones and started to walk through the paintings of earlier centuries. A portrait in specific, "Portrait of the Countess Daria Chernyshova-Saltykova by Francois-Hubert Drouais caught my eye and stopped me from my casual wandering. The Countess stares back at me. I couldn't stop watching her still figure. There was something so human about her, as if she was more than a painting but rather a woman caught in a frame by some spell. Her appearance is both young and old. White hair and rosie cheeks. The painting contains dark greys, and blues contrasting her perfect ivory skin and choking white pearls. Her deep blue eyes are piercing and seem to hold a secret. She's wise... very wise. Experience surrounds her like a wafting aura. Stories of sorrow, loss, love, life, death, joy and pain are told by her eyes. But she sits still, perfect, submissive. The appearance of a beautiful young naive woman dressed up in all the finery a reputable woman should adorn. Her meager smile and placid expression do not fool me. She's meant to portray a perfect innocence and ignorance. Masking her deep wisdom she plays her part, sits silently. I keep her gaze for awhile, half-expecting that she would pop right out of the painting and together we would discuss our common conceptions. But she remained picture perfect, still-posed.
I smiled back at her and eventually continued on. She knew I understood.