I was young enough that my mother had to drive me to singing lessons at the university. One afternoon, I wouldn't be able make it, so I called the music department a few days before to cancel my lesson. Keep in mind, these were the days before personal emails, cell phone and even message machines. The next week when I went to my lesson, the teacher chastised me for not showing up and failing to cancel. But I had, and tried to tell her, but she would have none of what she was sure of: my lie.
If you've ever been doubted, questioned, even accused of untruths; if you've ever felt slighted by someone's lying, you will relate to the above image and its striking power.
We found this in the Louvre's Northern European gallery stacked with works from the fifteenth century to the nineteenth century.
Father Time is the angel on the right and the seated woman is Truth. The title of the piece is "Time unveiling truth."
The irony is that this is a copy of the original which hangs just above. The original was worn down and the copy is more vibrant, more detailed. I also find it ironic that the artist is unknown.
Which is usually the story of truth and fabrication.
I love its promise that truth will be unveiled by time. Truth always prevails, surfaces, is always admitted to--over time--because of what it is: truth.
It still hurts--even more than the time I was accused of lying--the memories of the lies I intentionally told.
We hop on our bikes and what first appeared to be a sunny day is threatened by dark clouds. The opposing weather meets just above my head and I wonder which will prevail: rain or sunshine. It will most likely rain, but the sun will eventually emerge~~like truth.