When I was young my mom was cash poor, art rich. We couldn’t afford a washer dryer but there was a Marc Chagall sketch in the bathroom hallway, a Max Ernst lithograph above the futon in the living room she had to pull out every night to go to bed. My favorite was a Dorothea Tanning painting dedicated to my mom’s stepmother Primrose. It’s called Créatures entourées de couleurs. It’s just some squiggly ink lines in the vaguest shape of people in various states of ecstasy, maybe agony, it’s hard to tell. Each figure is outlined by their own wash of color, green or blue, red or yellow or orange. Now it hangs above our bed, a wedding gift.