Sucked in by a force, I'm flying through a tunnel
The tunnel of memory that leads me back home
The past blurs my present, so my vision is double
Walls of my childhood curve into a dome
From here I can see that home, tilting
And falling from place, all the lamps are aflame
My father's empty chair is slowly ascending
Tipped by the light, outlining its frame
For this oil painting, I prepared the canvas with a layer of textured bronze color, then worked the scene into it. The early sketches for the composition were done on a small note of paper on the first day of the Shiv-aa, the mourning period following my father's death. By the time I came back home the note was lost, so I re-sketched it from memory.
★ Love poetry? Get this book ★
"Not only does the author take the reader into a wonderful world where words are like music, ebbing and flowing with a rhythm that is captivating and beautiful, but she also gives life to her father's writings"