The Coquettish Widow 1747

Editor: Here we have "The Coquettish Widow," an engraving by Simon Nicolas Duflos from 1747, currently housed at the Metropolitan Museum. It's… well, she's definitely got a "look" about her, doesn't she? Almost a hesitant eagerness. What strikes you most about this piece? Curator: Hesitant eagerness – I love that, and yes, it’s precisely that kind of delicious ambivalence that just gets me going! It’s like she's tiptoeing the line between proper mourning and…re-emergence. Don't you think the mirror becomes more than just a reflective surface? It’s a collaborator, a silent partner in her… becoming? Editor: A collaborator… Interesting! I hadn’t thought of it that way. It seems to add a layer of vanity, perhaps? Or is that too simplistic? Curator: Simplistic? Darling, everything's simplistic if you don't dig deep enough! Vanity's a starting point, sure, but maybe it’s also about control? This woman, now widowed, gets to curate her own image, her own destiny. And think about the Rococo style here – all those curves and frills weren’t just for show; they were about celebrating a certain… lightness of being. And here it comes, laced with just a touch of daring. Almost as if the line wasn’t the weight to lose – what if that woman suddenly decided *to lose her head?* Editor: So, it's less about blatant flirtation and more about reclaiming agency through appearance? Curator: Exactly! It's a wink and a prayer wrapped up in silk and rouge! The power is in the suggestion, in that exquisite dance between freedom and fear. Editor: Wow, I'll never look at a Rococo portrait the same way again! Curator: Oh, good! Mission accomplished. And remember, darling, the best art always holds a mirror up to our own complicated selves, too. What would our mirror say, should it talk, and do so looking over our own vanity?