The girls didn’t call him Papa Corot without reason.

Jean Baptiste Camille Corot was loved by all, but his models loved him the most. He was sweet and gentle, and never asked for favors of any kind in return. He hired these models and painted them. That was it. It wasn’t because he had a ring on his finger - he didn’t. He was just so consumed by the urgency of his art that he barely had time to flirt. Talk about a creative calling.

Corot wasn’t known for painting ladies. In fact, he never exhibited this painting at any salon. I hope he wasn’t embarrassed, because it is beautiful. The young girl scowling at Corot wasn’t thrilled, but she was pretty. Her name was Agostina Segatori, an Italian woman with an impressive resume. She used to run a joint up in Montmarte called Cafe du Tambourin. That’s where she met all of them, Corot, Edouard Manet, Eugene Delacroix, Vincent van Gogh. Segatori and van Gogh were even lovers for a short bit. It ended badly. Van Gogh still had some prints inside the pub when she locked him out. The poor guy was forced to steal his own artwork back.

With Corot, this formidable Italian woman is comfortable, yet fierce. She does not fear Corot...I’d say he’s scared of her. Her deadpan stare says more than I want it to. I can see her channeling her inner Cersei Lannister. Thankfully, Corot made it out of there alive. Never interrupt a woman reading her book.

Segatori was a professional. She had been modeling for different artists long enough for her to create a market for herself. She was a top model and Papa Corot a stellar employer. He wanted his models to feel like they were at their own homes, doing the things they would normally do. Segatori did not appreciate being interrupted reading, but at least in Corot’s studio that’s probably the worst that would happen to a girl.