“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 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 that it was terrible and they had to stop him from setting the canvas on fire.
