After my foster dad, my grandpa died and we buried him on the 7th Aug I have been kinda paralysed. Couldn't paint ever since I made the last picture of him from memory to put in his grave as a parting gift, with a small bag of flowers and seashells.
I became an artist because he was a sculptor, and painted marine scenes. He'd paint sea battles, calculate the sun position, check weather records, calculate distances between ships. He'd paint historical ships with accuracy. He'd paint our city and the rivers we have. He'd also paint me, my sister, cousins.
He always would use this shade of green that was so out of place for me, like everything looks perfectly balanced and then the most vibrant crazy deep green. I always said like why this shade, why malachite green for goddamn leaves pops, and he'd be like I like this shade too much.
I want to buy every last tub of paint in malachite green in this city and hug them tight
He didn't finish last two paintings.
It can't mean I won't finish mine. He told me ill be gone but you all remain here, together, and live still has colour, beauty never ends. And I'm trying. Trying so bad.
Crying typing this out but this is so important to me
