This painting, i remember that it hang over my parent's home's couch. I'm wide aware that it was only a replica; it looked like it's colors were fading with the years as i stare at it. When i was tricked by my family to leave the house (so they could take over it after my father died), i kind of felt sad to leave it behind for them to take it. This painting sat on my living room caught my eyes from the moment i got aware of it's presence. I don't remember if my mother got if from her mom or if it was always being there hoping that i notice it. I was kinda young and for some reason, whenever i looked at it, i got lost on it's scenery: the wooden bridge, the reflecting waters, the women doing their laundry.... it always seems to invite me to stare at each of the artist's stroke on it's canvas.
Before child abuse was even punished by law, whenever i got beating for whatever it was, i look at this painting as if i was trying to hide the pain and my humiliation inside of it's canvas. I once had one of the most horrible migraine episode in my life and instead of going to my room with my suffrage, i landed on the couch. This painting that seemed to had haunted me from my very first years was above me, as if it was trying to smooth the pain away, just like many times before. While i was staring at it, i fell under a heavy sleep, and when, i woke up, the pain was gone.
Today and years later, my heart stopped as i came to find one like it on the web: The Langlois Bridge by Vincent Van Gogh. I couldn't stop shaking as i once again locked my eyes into this piece of my tortured childhood looking back at me. Even it it wasn't the old painting that eased my pain as i was growing up, i could still feel it's power over me. Tears ran on my face as i scanned this pic on full color to hang it on my office. Now, above my computer, hangs my angel, so i can still lose myself into it's glory and found myself saying: Welcome Home.
The pic is not mine, i only faded it's look.