I, Mona Lisa

by Natasha Solomons

‘Painting is superior to music as it does not perish immediately after its creation.

A gilded palace, no matter how splendid or filled with silent treasures, is still a jail when one cannot leave.

but the manners of the tourists are despicable. They complain to one another how small I am, or that my smile is more of a grimace.

‘A painting is visual poetry.’

‘When I paint, I paint two things. I paint a man, or here, a woman. But I also paint a mind – my mind, my ideas. This portrait is not simply of you, but also of my mind and my ideas. That part of the picture will appear to you as stranger, as she is not you, but me.’

I may be a woman but when you stare at me, I dare to stare back, resolute. I am not like the others who have come before who glance demurely at the floor, or their coyly clasped hands, or to the side. Look at me, and I see you too.

He is never unkind, and he is always patient with those more stupid than himself,

he senses that I am no ordinary painting. I unsettle him.

He always begins each work with great optimism. It slowly leaks away over time like wine from a cracked flagon.

The studio without him is a summer’s day without sunshine.

His affection for me will endure beyond a season, it is a love that transcends flesh

‘The vene d’acqua of the earth is like the blood flow of a woman. The life cycle of a woman is short while the earth is eternal, but still they reflect one another. As a man, or indeed a woman has bones inside her, the supports and armature of flesh, so the world has the rocks, foundations of the earth. As a woman has in her a lake of blood, where the lungs rise and fall in breathing, so the body of the earth has its ocean sea, which rises and falls every six hours as if the world breathed.’

‘You, my Lisa, are different from other women. You are the Universal Woman. Eternal like the earth. I’m painting every woman and the earth herself at once, glimpsed, I think, over your shoulder. Woman and the earth itself and the very forces that give her life.’

He sees the connection between all things. Nature, painting. Life and death. Shade and light.

Yet if I am a beloved lady, then I must be loved. And I want to be loved

‘I know I am stupid beside you and certainly next to God. Even you are stupid compared to God, oh great Leonardo. You need to surrender a piece of your will and all your pride and accept this calamity as His will.’

Leonardo is opposite. He always instructs Cecco and Tommaso to tell stories with their pictures but to leave something as a mystery, something hidden. It is more enticing, more delightful, when a secret is concealed. The viewer must bring part of themselves to the painting.

some of my secrets are hidden, and when you come to me, you must bring a piece of yourself.

‘Children are all the same, whether they come from the loins of peasants or kings.’

‘Children must play like the sun must rise,’

he simply listens to a mother as she talks of the girl she loves and has lost and hopes to meet again in Heaven,

‘She was just an ordinary little girl. They die every day. But she was mine. And I loved her.’

may not have children but everyone I love will die. I shall outlive you all. Long after you all wither and decay, I’ll look upon these stars, alone.’

Foreknowledge brings sadness.

‘You see, Madonna Lisa, I never usually paint just one woman at once. I must combine several to find ideal beauty,

‘You should listen to me most of all. We are not friends. Don’t listen to the petty compliments of your friends. It’s your enemies who you must heed. A friend may be deceived by love.’

‘I am not your friend, and I do not like you, and still I tell you that it is a great work,’

Death will come. He is always following at our heels, waiting.

In the days and weeks after Leonardo’s passing, I would forget he was gone and each morning I’d wait for him to wake and call to me but the greeting never came. This silence would last always. I would always be waiting for his voice, the beloved voice that no longer calls to me.

King Francis came to admire me, marvelling at my serenity and calm beauty, when beneath the surface of my pigments I was rage and agony. At least when you grieve, you weep. Your eyes swell and redden, your cheek pales. Pity me, then, and my false mask of tranquillity.

‘One is never too busy for Death. He comes for everyone.’

We were now but objects of value, possessions to be passed amongst men. There was nothing we could do but hope they were kind and treated us gently.

instead I tended my loss over the years as carefully as Angiola did her garden, anxious not to forget a single memory.

‘Is it worse to be a painted woman, or to be real, in the hands of a man? At his mercy?’ ‘I do not know,’ I said. ‘It depends on the man.’

Not all love needs consummating, and love takes many forms, something Salaì never understood.

‘Don’t console me, my darling. I don’t want it. Pain is our memory of love.’

A day with you, an hour, a moment, is worth the decades and the centuries without you. I will pay the price. And willingly,’

I look into his dear face, exhausted and stricken. He’s frightened me and yet I’m filled with pity. He did not expect to love me. I was supposed to be a wonder for the world, but I am wondrous to him. My universe was black and grey until he coloured it. My smile is for him. Always.

She is a sorceress of presentation, and yet it is not merely the azurite blue of her eyes, but the intelligent laughter of their expression.

She is a wit who can read and write.

But simply because you cannot hear it, does not mean that it isn’t there. Have you ever heard the voice of God?’ ‘No.’ ‘Do you doubt it?’ ‘I wouldn’t dare.’

‘Cortigiana or queen,’ I say, even though she cannot hear, ‘you are a woman of virtù. Of power and poetry.’

The popes keep on changing their minds about what they want. And then dying.

‘Nature is the mistress of all masters.’

Leonardo grunts. ‘Let no man enter who knows no geometry.’ ‘See!’ exclaims Raphael. ‘A prophet of art and mathematics.’ Leonardo frowns. ‘Common sense, not philosophy. You must understand geometry and mathematics to produce art.’

“Good men possess a natural desire to know.”’

I’m calling upon the dead with Leonardo to uncover the secrets of life.

‘A queen and a fool. But perhaps we are all fools for love.’

Time has softened my animal spirits, if not my appearance, and I’m almost pleased at the prospect of seeing her.

‘The greater danger for most of us lies not in setting our aim too high and falling short, but in setting our aim too low, and achieving our mark,’