The Impressionist galleries at the Met are beyond, well, impressive. Painting after painting of the masters – Degas, Van Gough, Monet, Seurat – you name it. Literally, room after room of canvases! I loved them all. I was in heaven. I noticed, though, that there weren’t many women represented. I finally encountered a lovely painting by Berthe Morisot. And next to it, an equally delightful Mary Cassat. And just next to the Cassat another painting of a similar style that I assumed was also a Cassat. I studied the painting, thinking, damn, this is every bit as good as the works of art painted by the men. If you were to tell me this is a Renoir, I would believe you. My gaze shifted to the title card – Renoir. Sigh.