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About the Picture
The child born into this world is welcomed with a revelatory dance. A priest with a harp ordains the narrative with a single
drop of blood, left to fall upon the infant's crib. The other four players each bring a gift to the newborn baby. A mother
in the foreground personifies love, the unconditional care of our early lives. The young girl dances with abandon, offering
the hopes of youth; a dove and a manuscript fly from her clasped hands. The worried father carries a skeletal burden: the
responsibility of adulthood. Finally the grandmother, a crone with a death's-head brings a small meaningless package to the
party. In the distance a mausoleum awaits, as the condition of existence determines a direction, a being-towards death.
The young aesthetician might ruminate on the scene: "Life for me has become a bitter drink, and yet it must be taken
in drops, slowly, counting." (Kierkegaard)
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