The Coquettish Widow 1724

Editor: This is "The Coquettish Widow," an engraving by Bernard Lépicié from 1724, currently residing at The Met. There's something incredibly intimate about it. The woman's gaze, the dishevelled scarf... It’s as if we've caught her in a private moment of reflection, or perhaps… preparation? What strikes you about this work? Curator: Oh, isn't she enchanting? It's funny, because I almost feel like *I'm* intruding on her secret world! Notice how Lepicie renders the widow’s vanity not as vulgar, but rather… aspirational. It’s as if she's caught between two worlds – grief and newfound freedom. I wonder, does the poem beneath, about the liberty of choice and the fear of change, amplify this duality? Editor: It certainly does. I hadn't considered how her 'coquettishness' might be less about attracting attention, and more about reclaiming agency. I love the idea of her fashioning herself a new identity. Do you see her gaze directed outward or inward? Curator: Both, I think. One eye flirts with the reflection, crafting her image. The other peers toward a life beyond grief, weighing possibilities. Tell me, what would you call her emotional state, and how is it different from grief? Editor: I suppose she's tentatively hopeful? Not entirely out of the woods, but feeling… a flicker of possibility? Certainly more than mere despair! Curator: Exactly! Rococo art so often explores those tender, human nuances, and what an amazing glimpse into 18th century femininity! Editor: Yes. It's amazing how a simple portrait drawing opens up all sorts of thoughts about women in the 1700's. Thanks!