The poem is about the conflict between an artist, Raphael, and his muse/lover, La Fornarina. [1] La Fornarina feels jealous that Raphael is more focused on his artwork than her, as he admires his own works in her lap. [2] She worries that she is nothing more to him than the daughter of a baker. [3] Raphael also feels conflicted, as he fears he may prefer his own portrait of La Fornarina over the real person, since his first loyalty is to his art.
The poem is about the conflict between an artist, Raphael, and his muse/lover, La Fornarina. [1] La Fornarina feels jealous that Raphael is more focused on his artwork than her, as he admires his own works in her lap. [2] She worries that she is nothing more to him than the daughter of a baker. [3] Raphael also feels conflicted, as he fears he may prefer his own portrait of La Fornarina over the real person, since his first loyalty is to his art.
The poem is about the conflict between an artist, Raphael, and his muse/lover, La Fornarina. [1] La Fornarina feels jealous that Raphael is more focused on his artwork than her, as he admires his own works in her lap. [2] She worries that she is nothing more to him than the daughter of a baker. [3] Raphael also feels conflicted, as he fears he may prefer his own portrait of La Fornarina over the real person, since his first loyalty is to his art.
I ' m proud of who you have become because of art,
But It is the same thing that is tearing us apart. we sit, and you hug me in your lap as you admire your work, I can’t help that my jealousy is starting to lurk.
If I had my feelings spoken,
the strings attached to my heart would have been loosen; If you had warned me of your dismissive behavior, I would have known that I am nothing to you but a Daughter of a Baker.
Yes, my love, I understand,
I too am conflicted on how I act; I am afraid if I ever saw you and your portrait that stands, that I would prefer the one I made with my own hands.
If it isn’t heart, mind, soul that you gave to me,
Would my eyes, lips, body even be for thee? Oh, my love, I cannot decide… For to my art is the faith of my mind.