Easily the Lunatic of Étretat. I wish I knew how to upload an image on here to show it, but I'll probably have to censor it regardless due to her eyes: as if killed & ressurected by grief & torment, yet akin to any mother vigilant to protect her young. Does it matter at all if that log is not her "true" baby? How much of a lie is it, really? This painting strikes cords within me like a melody, with lyrics I have yet to decode. Lovely & chilling.