I only own a couple of pieces that once belonged to my mother: a brown suede vest and a green stone ring spring to mind immediately, although there are undoubtedly other lost bits and bobs I’m forgetting. I remember when I was a little girl how much I enjoyed taking a peek in my mother’s closet. Not because I loved anything in particular, but that I liked being around her things, even if I couldn’t pilfer them for my own use. All her many beloved jackets, a drawer full of printed silk scarves, a stack of bags in patent and suede. I had never given my mother’s wardrobe much thought until I spoke with Jeannette Montgomery Baron, author of ‘My Mother’s Clothes’.

In her book, Barron lays out her mother’s pieces, photographs them in beautiful settings from lush grass to sumptuous cloth backdrops, and tells the story for each no matter how grand or mundane. She began taking these pictures and making what would become her book after her mother’s diagnosis with Alzheimer's. Despite the grim prognosis, the elegant little scrapbook brought Barron’s mother moments of extreme clarity, allowing her to recall with pinpoint precision where and when she wore something or why she loved it.

One piece in particular, a shimmery white Bill Blass jacket covered in sequins stood out the first time I read the book. “That jacket is important to me I think, because I had seen her wear it so many times and I suppose I associate happy memories with it. I have this one image of her in my mind when she was going to the ballet with a friend, it’s sort of a snapshot.” This snapshot idea, capturing a fleeting moment in time however long ago, is something Barron has done so well in her book. There are no images of her mother in the pieces, save for a few archival shots, but each shoe and dress is so vivid and personal she might as well be; all images portraits without the sitter.

Another striking piece is an almost empty bottle of Norell perfume, the remnants of the amber fragrance pooled at the bottom of the faceted glass bottle. Even though much less tangible than say the bright red Norma Kamali swimsuit her mother loved, it is a clear reminder of the power of scent. “I do remember all the scents my mother wore. It was Norell and then Chloé and YSL and Oscar and Bill Blass, although I don’t really remember that one as well.” Barron recalls fragrance a few times in the book, the lingering scent of her mother in a fur coat, and of course the actual eau itself. My mother doesn’t wear L’Air du Temps any longer having swapped it for a lighter body spray with a similarly romantic name, but I can still perfectly recall the powdery lightness, forever associated in my mind with what it meant to be a woman.

More than anything else, Barron has crafted a moving and very much alive love letter to her mother, and effectively, to all mothers. “Even while she was alive I was working on it and of course it was very emotional, and then she died and I continued the project after. I don’t think it really hit me until after this book was published that she was really gone. This project kind of kept her alive in my mind as I was working on it.” What Barron perhaps did not realize she was doing at the time was giving her mother life to a world of people that never knew her. Remembering the past, holding on to all the material bits, pales in comparison to what she has created as a tribute.

After our conversation, which was rather long and wonderfully personal, I decide that the next time I’m at my parents house I will spend more time with my mother, and perhaps steal some time in her closet. Maybe I can blame it on our curious little cat that I can picture sniffing around the shoes as I thumb through my mother’s life thoughtfully. And happily.

All photos courtesy of Jeannette Montgomery Barron.