My father was a painter. Oils, acrylics, pastels, charcoal, pen and ink, on canvas and on paper. By trade, he was a lithographer, but at home, he was a painter, and that’s how I always thought of him: as an artist. His basement atelier was a cluttered chaos of books and bottles, half-squeezed-out tubes of […]
Published on October 27, 2016 07:25