Lady with a Fan

Two hooks on an expanse of purple plush. I circled the room with growing unease — are we too late, has she been withdrawn? The grey captions stencilled either side recording her history seem like an epitaph. So I enquired. “Don’t worry, she’ll be back in a few minutes,” said chirpy girl in a dark blue apron over sensible trousers and black clumpy prison warders' shoes (patent — mind you, because this was Sotheby’s.) On the afternoon of the last viewing day, the Lady was prised from her divan by two handlers. They grasped the top of her slender bare arms and carried her off to a separate room where she could be viewed in private by a client. In the meantime, dapper courtiers with posh voices and smooth soles padded by and secret boudoir doors, cut deep into the walls, opened and closed. I went to look at the Kandinsky in the next room and when I returned, a security guard was standing by the purple enclosure, holding onto the ropes. I then glimpsed her humble wooden back as they brought her in and offered her up once more to the public gaze. <a href="https://lisecolas.medium.com/lady-with-a-fan-da23a4726802">Learn More</a>