Because the families were close (so much so that it is rumored that Claude and Alice were having an affair while Camille was still alive), Claude welcomed Alice and her six children into his home in Vétheuil, a town along the Seine northwest of Paris.

It was art that connected the Monets and Hoschedes, the men becoming close friends.Īs Camille Monet’s health slowly declined, Ernest Hoschede lived beyond his means and went bankrupt, ultimately abandoning his wife, Alice, and their six children.

He was best known for supporting Impressionist artists like Monet, Degas, and Pissarro. The son of a successful lace and shawl merchant, Ernest Hoschede managed a successful department store in Paris and was an art collector. Camille died of tuberculosis in September 1879 at the age of thirty-two, leaving Claude to raise his adolescent and infant sons. Sadly, Camille became ill a few years into their marriage, and the birth of their second son, Michel, weakened her body further. Whether sitting on a bench or in a garden with their son, Camille was Claude’s muse and featured in many of his early works. Three years after their son, Jean, was born, Claude Monet married Camille Doncieux. And it was absolutely magical! I had the opportunity to return to Giverny recently as an adult - this time old enough to appreciate all of the opportunities my parents gave us to learn about architecture, art, geography, and history firsthand through travel - and it was just as I’d remembered it. On one of our frequent weekend trips from the Netherlands to France, we spent the day at Claude Monet’s home in Giverny, France. And, I regularly daydream about how fantastic it would be to once again be living in Europe with the same opportunities for regular travel throughout the historic “Old World.” But, as a kid, spending hours in a stuffy, old art museum while my mom - an incredibly talented and curious artist - poured over each piece for what seemed like an hour was pure torture. As an adult, I realize that is such a ridiculous complaint. You might have heard me complain in the past that my childhood involved being dragged to every art museum in Europe by my mother.

Everyday Monet by Aileen Bordman