Leonardo looked out from the tall tower down onto the streets of Florence. The July
morning sun climbed higher in the sky casting long shadows across the cobble
square and terracotta roof tiles below. He had come so far since being born in the hamlet of Anchiano and the small
town of Vinci. What a life he had led; charmed to be sure and so, so lucky. It was
not easy to be enchanted with vision in such times and it very nearly landed
him in prison. Still the day was warm and Mona was here again.
Her
real name was Lisa Del Giocondo but he named her Mona Lisa and nobody would ever know why. Today he would paint more of her husband’s
commission and they would eat and they would talk and she would tell him always
of her great sadness. But not yet; this was Florence and first they would eat. They
greeted and kissed and she began at once to make pranzo from the ingredients
she brought in her basket.
And he observed her immersed in the preparation; childlike with the
utmost innocence in what she was doing. Safe and secure she took the moment and
let go all of the worry and strains of her life. I joked that despite her status
she was born to be a ‘donna cuoco’ and her small, thin smile appeared and
mocked me in return. He realised that she had kept hope alive throughout all
that had been sent to trial her. A perfect, sweet human being wrapped in layers
of bad experiences; but here, now; safe and warm and so loved; she could let go
all the past and simply became herself.
He noted the ingredients; small sweet tomatoes, onion, garlic, carrot,
celery, red pepper, and a cup of red wine. She chopped the tomatoes, onion,
pepper and carrot and with crushed garlic gloves and wine added them to a pan
with enough water to cover everything. She brought it to boil and now it would simmer
for 2 hrs on a gentle heat. When it was ready she would add a handful of torn
basil to the mixture and serve over fiorentine pasta.
He painted and she sat. They would talk of the world and all those
things that only two disparate people can share lest they offend decency. Then they
ate, and he painted more and afterwards they sat on the terrace overlooking the
square and finished the rest of the wine watching the shadows lengthen. She did
not judge, she did not pity him and after she left Leonardo took the canvas
from the covered alcove and from memory began to paint the real woman he had
seen.