lolita

Lolita as an old, old woman, is the muse for an elderly painter, a woman in her late seventies. I can see them interacting in the home of the painter. Her paint tins and brushes are around the rooms of the house and, prominently, there are splashes of deep blue on canvases and walls. I am not sure if Lolita is alive; I think she is a ghost. She sits in front of the large wooden framed window which is open, and the white curtains are billowing gently in the breeze behind her. She watches the painter, large eyes in a wrinkled face, following her movements. I am somehow connected to the women although they cannot see me.