If you've been reading this blog for a while, or if you've visited the La Casita Mágica Gallery facebook page, you've probably already seen this painting, either featured or off in the background.
What you may not know is that I painted this picture from a photo I took here in San Pancho on May 24, 2010. I was walking to the beach from a house I was renting while creating this one, when I noticed this child in a grubby corner and was stopped in my tracks. I only took one shot, apologizing to her as I did it, as I truly felt that I was intruding on her world, and I felt that she felt the same.
I never published the photo. I knew the minute I saw it that it was private for now, and that one day I wanted to make a painting of it. It captivated me. I was moving back and forth frequently from Seattle to San Pancho in those days, and oddly enough perhaps, in this small town, I never saw that baby again. Not only that, but, in searching for her, I found that the corner in which I had photographed her had ceased to exist.
I had no idea who or where she was.
Finally, the day came when I discovered the time and courage to buy a canvas and start to paint. It took a long time. I wanted to capture her and the feeling of the moment, and I'm a rank beginner so I had a great deal to learn as I worked. I didn't mind it, though. In fact, I loved doing it, as I was so attached to the image; and through it, to the child.
A few days ago, Maria Ines, the owner of the very busy Maria's Restaurant here in our pueblo, finally was able to get away long enough to visit La Casita Mágica. She brought a goodly share of her family: her mother, her brother, her nephew, her niece, and her daughter. They were delighted and appreciative. They happened to notice Niña en la Esquina (Girl in the Corner) and asked me about it.
"You took the photo in San Pancho? Who is she?"
I had to admit that I didn't know, but I described for them the exact spot where I'd taken the photo.
They knew it, and they knew her.
Yesterday evening, a young woman came shyly to the door of the gallery, accompanied by two girls, one about twelve, the other obviously her younger sister. We invited them in. They walked directly to the painting and looked at it for a while. Smiling at me, the young woman said, "This is her," and put her hand on the littlest girl's shoulder.
I nearly levitated, of course. I don't know what I said or did but I bent over to look at the child and saw those eyes.
"It is you!" I said, when I could speak. "May I have a hug?"
She gave me a sweet soft hug. "Thank you for painting me," she said.
"Oh, my pleasure!" I said, and we all laughed. I found out that she turns six years old on July 1, so she was very near her first birthday the day I photographed her.
They began to leave the gallery when she turned and ran back to me for a very much longer and firmer hug. I told them all how happy I was finally to meet them, and asked them to come back any time they wanted.
It wasn't until we were driving home that I suddenly said to Craig, "I have absolutely no idea whether I asked her name!" I thought about it some more and was pretty sure that, in my joy at meeting her, I'd totally forgotten. So this morning, I stopped at Maria's and asked Ines where they lived. It was right there, beside where the dirty corner had once been, half a block away.
I went to the car and took out the eight by ten copy of this photo that I'd made this morning.
I showed it to the man sitting outside, a man with whom I have exchanged waves and adios-es for years. He beamed: he'd been told the story. He went inside and came out with Miranda, for he is her grandfather and at last I knew her name. I gave her the photo, with her name and mine and a red heart at the top, and she hopped with joy. "I want to show it to mama!" she said, so we walked another half block to the tortilleria where I properly met Alma, her mother. It was apparent to me from their smiles that the other two workers in the shop also had heard the tale. Alma told me that Miranda is in kindergarten until she turns six, at which time she'll be at the primary school.
Afterwards, I walked Miranda back home and said goodbye for now.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"To La Casita Mágica," I replied.
I went back to the car, as it had things in it to deliver to the gallery. By the time I drove past her house, she and her sister Aide were already on their way, skipping down the sidewalk toward the gallery where we spent a little more time together.
We'll see each other again, of course. Probably again and again and again. We have a bond, as you can imagine.
Me and Miranda, the Girl in the Corner.
I know you'll cherish the moment of meeting her forever! What a great story and thanks for sharing it. Miss you!!!
Posted by: Allen | March 09, 2015 at 08:16 PM
What a great story
Posted by: Dos Locos | February 20, 2015 at 05:51 AM
This is such a fabulous story. I am able not only to see it, but to feel it in your painting. Thank you for sharing <3
Posted by: Michelle Wagner | February 15, 2015 at 08:04 AM
I think you have a future as a painter. Loved it and the child.
Posted by: J Shehan | February 14, 2015 at 09:31 PM
What a wonderful story!
Posted by: Char | February 14, 2015 at 09:21 PM