These two images are ingrained in my psyche. Andrew Wyeth’s Christina’s World and Blonde Jesus.
Christina was affixed to the wall over my grandmothers living room sofa, and Blonde Jesus was over the day bed in the Tv den, that had been my mother’s room when a young girl, then my grandfathers room, then officially a den and guest room.
I spent many a night in that Tv den as well as on the living room sofa.
My mother’s family not wealthy or sophisticated, but they had a sense of the world and dare I say a touch of natural style.
The blond Jesus was a weird anomaly but he wasn’t garish. Muted in his frame in the den.
But the Wyeth painting hung stoic in the parlor living room. Over the sofa that occasionally was covered in plastic.
The rugs that my grandmother had put in in the 50s are still there.
Must be some sort of indestructible wool blend, and I do also recall plastic runners in the winter.
I think my uncle might still have Christina’s World on the wall and if I ever get my own house, I think I might get a print and place it somewhere.
I don’t know where Blonde Jesus went, I am betting in one of the piles in the basement.
