When my 91-year-old mother, Elia, moved in with me, I thought I was doing her a service.

In fact, it was the other way around. You see, mom was having issues with memory loss and accepting her age.

She looked defeated. I tried to make her as comfortable as possible,

but when I was at my easel, painting, I would peek over and see her just "there."

She'd be staring at nothing in particular. I'd watch her slowly climb the stairs,

and she wasn't the mom I grew up with. I saw, instead, a frail,

tiny, old woman. A few weeks went by, and I needed a break from my painting.

I wanted to play with the new camera I had just bought. I was excited -- it had all sorts of dials,

buttons and settings I wanted to learn, so I set up my tripod facing this large mirror,

blocking the doorway to the only bathroom in the house. (Laughter)