Monday, August 25, 2014
A Selfie. More or less. Mostly less.
Except for the hair color, this doesn't look anything like me, let me assure you. The simple and self-centered truth is that I like this painting because it's not only a 'Portrait d'Yvette' but it's dated 1942, the year of my birth.
Lately I've come across several Yvettes - kind of a weird feeling - in two recently read books (one I finished, one I didn't) and then this portrait today. I'm slightly taken aback since I can't ever remember seeing my name used for characters in fiction. (Except for Guy de Maupassant's short story 'Yvette' which I don't remember reading.) Has that ever happened to you? Well, if your name is Jack, it happens all the time and ho-hum.
But for us Yvettes out here, all this is a memorable and rare occasion.
When I was a kid I disliked my name intensely since it was odd and I always had to spell it out for people and, worst of all, Yvette wasn't conducive to a nick-name. Such are the trifles that make misery for young and tremulous ids.
Posted by Yvette at 2:38 PM