place. I learned a new kind of awe for my mother. She knew how to edit images with the same ease that others could tweak sentences. She would alter small details and, as if by magic, the meaning of a picture would snap into focus. She shaped each project around each artist’s strengths, so that their visions shone through and her own efforts remained invisible. She worked constantly with her hands—printing, cutting, taping manuscripts in place. She gave of herself to her projects without any sense of self-preservation. She never settled for good enough. She drew on every last reserve of her
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