muse and mother

What else have I been thinking about? It’s actually a who else.

This woman has been on my mind all morning, and she was here in my head last night, too. Her name was Jeanne Hébuterne, and she was prettier than anything and talented and deeply in love with Amadeo Modigliani. She was his muse and his lover and the mother of his baby girl. When he died, on the day but not year of my birth, she walked backwards out of a window and plummeted to the Paris street below. She was pregnant with his second child, and was only twenty-one.

Not only a muse, she was an artist herself, and I’ve grown quiet looking at her work.  Keep in mind she was just slightly more than a teenager when she painted; what if she had lived?

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Isn’t she just beautiful? And the story is so tragic. Good lord how I love artists and muses and lovers and passion and creation. Fascinating stuff.


2 thoughts on “muse and mother

"... all my lovers were there with me, all my past and futures."

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