Last September the shop's window was empty. In November the urn appeared. I fancied it was something of the ancient Roman period, bearing a classical allegory. I passed the window two or three times a week, on my way to the grocery store. Finally, yesterday, I saw the shopkeeper slowly and carefully sweeping the sidewalk. I asked him about the object.
"Is it of great age?"
"No, I made it myself," Antonio replied.
"You are a ceramicist?"
"Yes, of course."
"What do the figures represent?"
"This is fauno," he said pointing to the figure on the left. "And this is a woman singing a song of love."
"Just a woman, who comes from my imagination."
"And these are cherubs? Angeli?"
"Si. Angels of love."
"When I first saw the piece I thought it was an urn, but I see there is no removable lid."
"It is a decorative object. It can be made into a lamp."
"Yes. Very nice."
This morning I thought about Antonio, carefully sweeping his sidewalk. His artistic theme is love. Perhaps the urn is an autobiographical work. Now, a faun is a figure in Roman mythology similar to but gentler than the satyr. Ah, that is how he sees himself. But wait. He might instead identify with the woman.
Or the little angels.