She had finally allowed her negative feelings to surface, feelings that had been repressed for years in her soul. She had actually FELT them, and they were no longer necessary, they could leave.

Every man's work, pursued steadily, tends to become an end in itself, and so to bridge over the loveless chasms of his life.

Openness is all, she thought. Truth was its own reward.

I used to go and flatten my nose against that window and absorb all I could of his art. It changed my life. I saw art then as I wanted to see it.

Written By Mary Cassatt

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