A quiet face, visited by birds of memory.
Carrying the softness of what was passed down—
in silence, in shadow, in love.
On this Father’s Day, my thoughts drift like wool in water—
to the gentlest man I knew: my late father.
Kindness was his language.
Silence, his comfort.
He never raised his voice, only eyebrows in wonder.
I walk through the world with fragments of him—
in how I pause before speaking,
in how I notice the light,
in how I create with care.
And today, as I shape memory into form,
I think of how fatherhood leaves its traces—
in gestures passed down,
in the soft resilience of love unspoken.
In the hush of my studio, surrounded by textures of memory,
I remember all the ways love can be soft and enduring—
inherited not just in blood,
but in gentleness,
in presence,
in art.
Felt, Paint & Reflection 