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320 pages, Paperback
First published November 25, 2022
"Bathrooms are important," said Aunt Nadia vaguely. She seemed more interested in her coffee. "Bathrooms are the windows to the soul."
Rosa was fairly sure that bathrooms were nothing of the sort. Aunt Nadia often got a little weird when she was working on a painting, as if most of her brain was involved with art, and the bits that controlled talking were wandering around unsupervised.
"How is your painting going?" asked Rosa.
"Glorious. Terrible. I don't know. I'm a genius or an idiot. I won't be sure until it's done."
Rosa nodded. This was also perfectly normal. Aunt Nadia spent at least two-thirds of every painting convinced that she was the worst artist in the world and the other third convinced that she was the best. This was slightly easier to deal with than Cousin Sergio, who believed that the painting was brilliant up until the moment it was finished, when he suddenly discovered it was terrible and they had to stop him from setting the canvas on fire.



Aunt Nadia often got a little weird when she was working on a painting, as if most of her brain was involved with art, and the bits that controlled talking were wandering around unsupervised.
Cousin Sergio, who believed that the painting was brilliant up until the moment it was finished, when he suddenly discovered that it was terrible and they had to stop him from setting the canvas on fire.
“He made an evil monster that’s out to ruin us! Does it really matter how good his technique was?”
“Of course it matters,” said Aunt Nadia with a half-smile. “You’d hate to see the studio destroyed by a mediocre artist, wouldn’t you?”
Aunt Nadia often got a little weird when she was working on a painting, as if most of her brain was involved with art, and the bits that controlled talking were wandering around unsupervised.
Cousin Sergio, who believed that the painting was brilliant up until the moment it was finished, when he suddenly discovered that it was terrible and they had to stop him from setting the canvas on fire.
“He made an evil monster that’s out to ruin us! Does it really matter how good his technique was?”
“Of course it matters,” said Aunt Nadia with a half-smile. “You’d hate to see the studio destroyed by a mediocre artist, wouldn’t you?”
“‘Why were you under the bed?’
‘I was…um…doing something….’
‘Did the something involve shiny things?”
‘That is completely irrelevant,’ said Payne. He scowled as well as one could with a beak instead of lips. ‘It is possible that shininess was involved, but I don’t see how it matters.’”
“Uncle Alfonso smiled. ‘You put your heart into them. That’s what matters. Every illumination takes a piece of the painter’s heart, and that is why the magic works.’”

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