seeing her daughter was always a welcome sight and sigrid immediately put down her brush. sure , it had only been a few weeks since she moved out , but sigrid missed her laughter and sparkling eyes more than she would ever miss anyone. "tack , skruttis ," she replied , feeling warm at her daughter's love. the nickname was old , born when she was still a grape in her belly. "i know art is subjective , but if i hear you say anything like that and not refer to monet or renoir we will have words." she couldn't help but smile , reaching out to hold signe's hand. "how have you been , sweetheart. ?" a teasing glint appeared in her eyes. "talking to anyone special lately ?"
Signe had come up behind her mother, recognizing the woman was in the middle of a painting session and waited to be acknowledged. When her mother spoke, Signe chuckled. “You say rusty as if that’s not one of the most stunning paintings I’ve ever seen,” she teased, tilting her head to observe the landscape that she had been working on. “It’s really good, Mamma.” And it was good to see her mother allowing herself the small pleasures of being creative. While Sigrid Holmström was extremely analytical, she was also an intensely creative soul and Signe had credited her mother more than once for her own artistic streak.