What makes them
uniquely hers is the filter they passed through; the panic of a childhood trapped in abuse; the guilt of an upstairs - downstairs housewife - artist as anxious to turn out the
perfect roast for her sons as to get down to the plaster in her studio below; the ambiguity of a hostess entertaining a haloed intelligentsia who was first savaged, then immortalised by the dybbuk that invaded her
body and ultimately her materials.