My Dad

 This post will be simply about an amazing man. My dad.

 Amongst all of the things I ever owed Marilyn Monroe, I can't not to recall today the song "My heart belongs to daddy'. My dad's portrait is the ultimate thing which will never work for me. Because it's too much left to say.

 In my memories my dad is standing in his workshop, surrounded by hard smell of vernix, which never bothered me, smoking a cigarette even though he had quit already two years ago.It always has to be summer, with a sunshine lighting the workshop through the window, and softly melting in cigarette fumes in wooden walls, so home. My dad's face in mind in winter seems to be incomplete like most of his sketches. There has to be summer, with fresh tomatoes for a salad, and an empty beach with a lake to go to with your bike. The picture is staying incomplete, because there is so much to say, just like he always says, in arts like in life, some things are better incomplete.

 My dad believes that visual arts should create emotions like music. That there is a level of perception to be necessarily reached, beyond everything which could be obvious. Arts should never give you a ready image. Just like in life, when everything is clear, there is just no fun. 

 My dad is... how old? There was supposed to be a happy birthday, but maybe we should leave this post incomplete. How do you think, dad?