And with Martha Stewart busy, I guess I’m on my own.
As a bit of a spiritual exercise, I am dismantling the arrangement of Elizabeth Vigee-Lebrun self-portrait with daughter prints that hang at the top of my stairs. It all started with an old black and white print that had once hung in my great-grandfather’s house. I found and framed various copies. Seeing this painting at the Louvre was more exciting than seeing the Mona Lisa.
But has this become something of a shrine to obsessive motherhood? Have I formed too much of an attachment to my role as 'mom?' Or is it just a clever decorating idea? I shall find out.





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