Full circle

For ten years or more, anytime I visited my dad when he lived in this house, I would try to pick up a piece of slate from a pile he had collected.

My intent was to paint them. And so, moved by the irony of having unpacked these pieces of slate that I had carried under my car seats or tucked away in boxes through multiple moves, and now having them end up back where I first found them, I finally painted one.