Painting: Woman at the Well | Hyatt Moore
He saw her. He looked past the façade, beyond the lie that she wished were real, the image that she tried to project and saw down through to the gritty truth of her life. She wasn’t perfect, her path anything but ideal, her world eschew. You don’t come to the well alone and in the middle of the day if you are living the dream. No, she was persecuted by pain, her soul punched through by the gossip of women confronted with the smallness of their own lives. She came that day, as every day before, to draw water from the well in the middle of the day hoping, praying, desperate to avoid their clucking tongues and dark stares. She had come to draw just enough water for the work of the day, just enough to see her through and instead she had stumbled into the light of eternity.