In The Fire Portrait, a shocking fire rips through the heroine's home in the rural hamlet of Aloe Glen. Ceiling panels have fallen down, exposing the underside of the corrugated iron roof. The curtains are burnt, the furniture reduced to scorched hulks. The dining room chairs Frances had painted with a whimsical display of jasmine and vines are blistered and blackened. In her studio, burnt paintings lie scattered. A paintbox has sprung open from the heat and left melted streaks across the floor. There are also unexplained shards of glass beneath some of the windows...
As Frances makes her way through the charred remains, she glances into a wall-mounted mirror. It is still hanging and intact, except for a hairline crack down its centre.
I walked closer. A face looked back at me. Thin, gaunt, almost. Green eyes with a sheen of defiance shading to despair.
I picked up a surviving piece of paper and a sliver of burnt wood.
I looked into the mirror once more, and began to draw.
My wonderfully talented artist friend has captured this pivotal moment in the novel. She has recreated Frances, reflected in the mirror. It's a deeply moving image of my feisty heroine. Thank you!
A face emerged. Angled cheeks. Billowing hair. I rubbed my finger through the ash on the floor and stroked it below the lines of the cheekbones to make shadows.
Then I picked up the charcoal sliver, tapped it to make the point sharper.
I drew a line down the centre, just like the crack bisected the mirror.
I wonder if any of my readers are inspired to recreate this moment, too?
Put it up on facebook or Instagram, you never know where it will travel...
Read the Book, Paint the Portrait #thefireportrait
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