Sylvia Plath's first act of artistry was to create with colored tiles, on the family's living-room rug, an outline of the Taj Mahal resembling the
image woven into the family bath mat. Otto so liked toddler Sylvia's artwork
that weeks passed before he allowed his wife Aurelia to vacuum. In Letters Home, Aurelia described Otto fawning over what Aurelia critiqued as Sylvia's "art without perspective, of course"-- Sylvia was only two years old! -- signaling unfinished business of a bitter sort. It seems Otto admired his daughter's artwork while giving his three-dimensional wife nothing but orders.
Most likely the Plaths did not imagine their daughter's face printed on a bath mat. Nor would they have a sense of humor about it.
I think Aurelia must have chosen a Taj Mahal bathmat because that is what new wives do, or because she was the artsy one of the couple, or bought it with hope or irony because the Taj is a monument to a happy marriage. Or secretly she chose it -- my favorite explanation -- because her former boyfriend Karl, an engineer, her true love, had rhapsodized to her about the Taj's flawless foundational engineering.
Otto Plath too had
his ideals. One was to sire superior children. For such a parent it is
never too soon to show kids the wonders of the world, so maybe he bought the Taj Mahal bath mat -- and for such a parent it is never too soon for kids to perform like superior kids.
Not quite believing 1930s Taj Mahal bath mats ever existed, I looked in vain online for a vintage example.
Instead, I found Sylvia Plath towels and yoga blankets (sold out!; but
you can get a Ted Hughes yoga mat).
Or you can wear or tote or drink beverages from
items with stylized versions of Sylvia's image, or
photographic images fondly imagined to be Sylvia, such as the barefoot woman in slacks absorbed in reading or Olwyn Hughes, as in the battery chargers pictured.
%20-%20Pixels%20-%20pixels.com.jpg){kind=tracking}