Chapter III · Christmas · 106 days

Seven a.m., and nobody is dressed yet.

Carollers, skating ponds, and the paper everywhere.

The paper flying on Christmas morning. Carollers at your own front door. The whole village out on the skating pond. Every tradition here was old when your grandparents were young, and yours is the family inside it.

Thirty Mornings

30 traditions

The one rule

The face stays. Everything else is repainted.

We are a family of artists, and the holiday art we kept being sent was one look with the colours swapped: orange in October, red in December. That is a costume, not a tradition. So each room here has its own painters behind it — Currier & Ives and Nast, the Brandywine and Hudson River schools, Rackham, Whistler, Bruegel in the snow and the magazine covers of the 1940s — and none of the four would recognise the others.

What we keep is you. The faces, the coats, the dog and the front of your house are held exactly as you sent them, and a judge scores every painting for likeness before you see it. We paint children here, and only here: a parent or guardian signs for every photograph with a child in it, the darker Halloween shelf is closed to them, and every painting with a child is looked at twice before it is shown and once more, by a person, before it is printed.

Most of the AI work doesn’t resonate with us either. We spent months on these rooms so that at least one of them resonates with you.

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