I own a pet portrait of a Irish wolfhound that I found in an antique shop.
It’s a really good pet portrait of a dog, the dog looks so happy and the artist’s style is pleasing. In the shop I turned it over. On the back is the artist’s signature and the year it was painted. That year was 1986. It suddenly occurred to me that the dog in the portrait must be dead by this point and the owner who commissioned it must be dead as well. Someone who loved their dog enough to get such a great portrait of them made wouldn’t part with it so they must have died, that’s the only reason it would be here. I was so horrified looking at this beautiful portrait of a beautiful dog.
It occurred to me all of the 19th century paintings of dogs in my favorite museums are portraits of dead dogs commissioned by dead owners. That portraiture is haunted by nature, a snapshot of a living thing that is loved and will survive long after the subject is no longer living and the person who loved them has gone.
Then I remembered my favorite Gary Larson comic.
Anyway, I bought the painting and it now hangs in my cat’s room. My cat has a room because I love her very much. I want to commission a portrait of her.
he knew he wasn’t supposed to dig around in the trash
amhrancas 