bouguereau’s philomela and procne. the tenderest representation i have seen, but that only makes the image all the more bittersweet. the title of this post is misleading: i had carried elisabeth, mary, and cathy in me for many years; it was only upon finding this painting that i felt one of those great reverberations, when something you have cherished for so long suddenly reveals itself anew. this is not elisabeth and mary, but it could have been; certainly they would do a double-take, especially at the embrace and all that is written in the encircling arm, the upturned chin, the hand on the hip, the two raised fingers that could be a dainty touch or a surreptitious flipping of the V.