​At the Table, by Nancy Buonaccorsi

At the Table, by Frederick George Cotman (England) 1880

​At the Table

The mug of chocolate warms my chilled hands, my insides. It’s snowing outside. I sit at our kitchen table that belonged to the dear mother of a dear friend, gifted to us. My eyes settle on the art print tucked within its wood frame resting on the opposite wall. I feel happy every time I see it. Warmed. Bought years ago, I had the print matted and framed; it now hangs in our house in the mountains. Research says looking at a painting can reduce stress, elevate mood.  

The original piece was painted by Frederick George Cotman in 1880, oil on canvas. Perfectly titled One of the Family, it depicts a pleasant scene of comfort and contentment. A kitchen table is at centre, bathed in light, hosting a feeling of joy. The grandmother sits on the right side of the wooden table. She cradles a large irregular loaf of bread against her chest and cuts a chunk off with a knife. Her satisfied smile and eyes soften her sharp features. She baked that loaf and will hold it close as she cuts thick slices for her son, his wife, and her three grandchildren. A much loved horse leans his light gray head in through the open top of the dutch door. He is one of the family.  

As is the brown and white dog who lays her head on the mother’s lap at the corner of the table. The mother’s face radiates the softness of gratitude and generosity. She leans back in her chair and hands a piece of food towards the whiskered mouth of the horse. Its velvet nostrils quiver as it reaches its huge head further into the room. The dog looks up at the woman in expectation, or at least hope. Surely there will be something for this other cherished member of the family.  

*

I feel a nudge on my leg. My dog must’ve been viewing the framed scene as well, and knows I will find a treat at the counter. He follows me while I gather a few treats, top off my mug of hot chocolate from the pot on the stove. We both return to the table, and munch and sip while we reenter the glow of the painting. 
          
*

In the upper right corner of the image, the father has returned from working on their farm. He hangs the horse’s harness on the wall and looks over his shoulder at the table he will join. Glad to be home, he wears a tired smile, his eyes proud. He stands in shadow, almost obscured, merging with the dark wood panelling. The light through the window barely reaches him, but he’s central; his chair sits at the head of the table.

The young daughter reaches her plump hand over the table and holds a morsel in the direction of the horse, mirroring her mother. Her eyes bridge the space between her fingers and the horse’s head. She’s eager, rosy-cheeked, blond curls, happy. Her older brother eats noisily at one end of the table, absorbed. The youngest boy sits by his grandmother, quiet, contented near her.

F. G. Cotman created this domestic scene at the Black Boys Inn in Hurley-on-Thames, in the rural parish of Berkshire, England. The Inn dates to the 16th century, when travelers would arrive by horse or by boat. The family who owned the inn served as Cotman’s models; the innkeeper, Mr. Steer, posing as the farmer. Real people, late 19th century, at a real table, in a real room. Even today, two hundred years later, the scene is heartwarming, nostalgic, sentimental. One art critic’s headline to her article about the painting: “What more can one possibly want in life?” 

I imagine Cotman setting up an easel, an over-sized sketch pad, or maybe holding a newfangled camera. The family sits about their table: the children likely up and down; perhaps spilled milk; their horse curious, plodding up to the door; their dog joining, perchance whining, the probability of a tasty snack. Cotman captures a charming slice, a fleeting scene, to share in perpetuity.

The original hangs in the Walker Art Gallery in Liverpool, and is considered an accomplishment in details, light, and contrast. Light, Cotman’s craft, illuminates, reveals and exposes. He contrasts age and youth. I consider: light and dark; what is and isn’t; what’s hidden; what will change. In the farmer, the young girl, in me.

I never cease to be soothed, captivated, lifted by this print. I’m invited into a moment: what was and what can be. A yearning builds, pulls. I slough my shadows, drawn by light, and lean onto the grandmother’s shoulder. I smell fresh bread. She puts the knife down and cradles me with her free arm. I hear the low snort of the horse, its mashing teeth. Then a hush, eyes on me. May I please stay? A cat leaps onto the farmer’s empty chair, breaks the silence and lets out a yowl. The table erupts into laughter. The dog raises her head, tail thumping, looks up at me, waiting.

I am suspended: one of the family, sharing at the table; the moment there for the taking when I need to be held, when I’m feeling what isn’t. Thank you Frederick George Cotman for staging an invitation to bask in simple joy. I stroke the dog’s muzzle, she curls at my feet. Light through the window focuses on me. Revealed, I stay awhile.

Nancy Buonaccorsi

Nancy lives in her hometown of Lafayette in Northern California, where she and friends rode their horses down its main street decades ago. Retirement from her career in special education gives her more time to write, as well as hike the East Bay hills, Mt. Diablo, and the Sierra. A participant in Diablo Writers Workshop for the last five years, Nancy’s work has appeared in Minnow Literary Magazine, Still Point Arts Quarterly, Where The Meadows Reside, among others. Her love of animals includes her dogs, cat, hives of honeybees, and most other creatures.