It was some kind of a group outing for the school where my dad worked. So, she left her very small child with a friend and put on nice clothes and went to see a musical by Stephen Sondheim about George Seurat. She was a painter and illustrator who was intensely and obsessively devoted to her work and was, I would assume, in the midst of a crisis about what new motherhood meant for both her art and her identity. She was 37 years old, and had maybe no longer expected to have children by the time she had one. My mom was- and still is- a working artist. When I was less than a year old, my parents left with me with a wildly unprepared family friend so that they could go see Sunday in the Park with George. Thank you for everything and also for inventing the black turtleneck
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