One of the everyday wonders of my childhood was a visit to my grandparents’ home. The house itself was full of Art Deco details. The walls and shelves were adorned with curious things, brought back from far-flung places… wooden boxes carved with dragons or inlaid with mother of pearl stood next to crystal balls and scrying bowls, each one with its story.
Most magical for me were the artworks, sculpted, drawn or painted by my grandfather. On the big wall above the staircase, Great Isis was enthroned, large as life… at least, that is how I remember Her. Eyeless portrait masks, cast in bronze, watched from the walls, but above the fireplace in the bedroom was a painting of a child.
It was painted with minimal brushstrokes, dark brown on sepia, giving the impression of a pen and ink drawing. The curly-haired child wore nothing but leaves and modesty, its…
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