In my house there's the five-second rule: if some edible falls on the floor and you snatch it back in the alloted amount of time, it's still good enough to eat. Germs only begin to appear after the sixth second. Today, I stood in front of Helen Searle's Still Life with Fruit and Champagne and thought, this spread looks pretty good for being nearly 140 years old. Searle, born in Burlington, Vermont in 1830, painted this still life when she was thirty-six.
In the painting there are grapes, plums, and a peach on a white marble table, and in the middle a glass of champagne. There's also a long branch that has clearly been cut (as opposed to torn) but its leaves have seen better days. In fact, one leaf seems to have been munched on by an insect. One of the yellow plums has a split skin, and there's a broken shell from a nut (possibly a hazel nut?). Most importantly, there's a bee. I wonder who invited him (or her) to the party?
I think the painter was trying to illustrate a bountiful life, as well as the decay that begins to seep in. We all die a little each day: the small changes hardly even register. But then there's the glass of champagne just waiting to be lifted to your lips. Those bubbles won't last forever. I don't know the quaffer's equivalent of the phrase carpe diem. I do know that this painting makes me think about beauty and time, and the life that is spread out before us. The question that comes to mind is: will you reach for the glass and take a sip, or not?
