Idea for a novel: a woman visits a museum one afternoon, and sees on a wall in one of the many rooms, a painting done in oils of a person who looks exactly like her, though the subject or model that the artist had in mind, when completing the work, couldn’t have been her, for the artist lived several centuries before, in a different country, and never could’ve known this woman, the one viewing the painting now, so that she, the heroine of the novel, experiences a series of emotions that begins to disrupt the pattern of her life, and that causes her to return to the museum each day, to sit in front of the painting, until finally she is old, without friends or family, and yet not what she would call alone.