This is the lone survivor of a pair of paint-by-number ballerinas that my mother painted for me. I have an early memory -- perhaps when I was 3 or 4 and we were living in St. Louis -- of my sister Sharon standing at the top of the stairs to the lower level of our split-level house. She had a small scissors in her hand and didn't have bangs anymore. I think my mother was painting these then. I saw the partner to this at a junk shop once and I'm sorry that I didn't buy it.
Several years later, my mother took a "real" painting class at a local university. I remember going with her a few times because she needed me to model.