It was 1939 at Ateneum, the art academy of the capital of Finland.
The sculptor was Christian Sibelius, nephew of the composer.
His female colleague was my mother.
The SculptorThey were very young and colleagues,
fellow students at the art school,
being brilliant both as budding sculptors,
with a natural endowment for creative realistic art,
and she was beautiful and only nineteen,
he was slightly older when he asked her
whether he would be allowed to make her portrait.
She of course was only happy to cooperate,
and so he sculpted her in all her mature teenage beauty.
Then the war broke out, and everything was interrupted,
the art school had to close, and he had to go out to war.
He never came back any more but fell a casualty among too many.
He was last male member of his family, which died with him.
All she was left with was his portrait of her.
She continued as a sculptress all her life.
The portrait always stayed with her and had an honoured central place,
bearing witness of her youthful beauty through all ages
as perhaps a testimony also of his lasting and undying love of her.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2020-08-09 at 23:45
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