How do I love you, Mary Cassatt, let me count the ways.

I love your paintings of mothers with their children.  The mother’s glance, the child’s expression, both seem so spontaneous, so momentary.  However did you capture that in oil, which takes so long and is so painstaking?

I adore your portrait of your mother reading Le Figaro in your Paris garden.  What can I say, I can see your affection for her.

I am bewitched by  your striking, elegant woman at the theatre. Your beautiful canvas is layered by your humor, as you present her being spied upon by a man, perhaps an admirer?  In your composition and color palette, I can see how much you admired the paintings of your friend, Edgar Degas.

I am very fond of your images of infants at the bath. You sure don’t take the easy way out when it comes to…