|Les Trois Soeurs par Claude St-Jacques|
The centre of the painting yearns towards a still darkness on a distant blue horizon; on the left, symmetrical trees dot a rich grain field; but it's to the right that my eye is always drawn by the the three women, formal as widows, faceless, yet seeming to gaze solemnly out of the picture. I love the mystery of these three figures, impassive, daring the viewer to project some meaning on to them.
This picture, Les Trois Soeurs by Claude St-Jacques, hangs in the living room of my Montreal home. On this Autumn evening my three young sons, strong limbed and tousled, are sleeping softly. These figures remind me that there's an aspect of my boys, a sensitive mysterious feminine side, that's often hidden from parental eyes but is always there behind their wide eyes. And that far blue horizon is their future, stretched out under a big sky, hopeful, leading who knows where.
But the figures stay mysterious: just when I think I understand them they escape me again, facelessly. Sometimes I think I know my young sons too; sometimes I think that they know me better than I know them.