There was always precision. Always exact marks. Always right angles. Dad had the mechanics of his work down so well I took it all for granted. Only in his passing have I been able to see his obsession and how it must have felt for him to go from functioning in such exacting marks to not being able to see or hear or make sense of most of the things around him. Tomorrow is clouded with a film of white.
Cyanotype, acrylic, tracing paper, vintage papers on board
Framed in a birch float frame
8" x 8"
Signed and dated on front and back
Same size and frame as days 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, 11, 13 if you want to create a gallery wall, which would look fantastic!