I blame it on the Art Museum. I spent thirty hurried minutes in there the other week. Taking frantic pictures and answering my children’s questions, I was also trying to absorb the sights for my own soul.
“Where is ‘my’ painting?” I murmured. I was looking for a very specific painting by Catherine Wiley – one that I remembered from my visit two years ago. They had another Wiley, just as breathtaking, also of a mother with a child outside, but not “my” painting. Continue reading