After my father died in December, I brought home his drawing table. Although he worked in a commercial art studio for most of his life, he always maintained a space at home where he could work. He had his drafting table and a "tabaret" where he could set up his palette, lay out his brushes and supplies. Who could count how many hours he spent at home, slaving away over an illustration that was due at an art director's office by a deadline. We almost never went on a family vacation without Dad pulling an all-nighter to finish a job the night before.
Now I have set up his table in my home. In fact, I did my last two paintings on it, but did not have it set up to the correct height, and did not have it set up right with my palette, paints, and water supply. The tabaret that we gave him in Christmas 2011 was here, but I had to wait for my boys to come home to move it up to my studio on the third floor last weekend.
If I get chilly when I am working up there in my finished attic space (and we did have a snow and ice storm this weekend), I can grab this sweatshirt that my father painted, put it on, and keep warm.
You can see why my studio now contains so many memories of my father. Maybe he will be looking down on me and inspiring me from above.
I miss him so much!
It helps to have my sweet new little granddaughter to hold and love.