The photo tells a story. I am not sure of the size of the original painting. I am familiar with the picture from books and the occasional post card.
Why should I tell you the story. Artworks have their own language: if I am going to paint a picture for you it would tell a different story.
My story starts in a room with a sloping roof and bare boards. The story finishes in the same room but I choose to push open the window and pull the net curtain to one side. There are the bushes outside and I can now hear the sound of traffic.
I can smell the remains of a scented candle wafting through the air but that is not in the story. I am back to the present.
Why does my story not take you to foreign lands or back in time to battles, empires and treasures? The reason is that I am in charge of this story and that picture and I have grown quite bored with it.
I am finished.