Daddy’s Little Girl

Fourteen years ago, almost to the minute, my father passed into the great beyond. I'm lighting a candle, of course. I may or may not pay my respects at the cemetery. I mean, I should, I want to, but at the same time, my studio is my father's former work shop. I am closer to him there than anywhere else on earth, I think, and what better way to honor his memory today than to work in my studio, under the light that hung in the family store, on a concrete floor stained with Daddy's years of habitation, with photos of him (and my mummy) looking on?

Yeah. Nothing.