Home
Home took me twelve years to start. I came home from uni and saw my dad standing in the light, holding an injured bird like it was the most peaceful thing in the world. I took a photo and told myself I’d paint it one day. That day came in the middle of some turbulence, when I reached for something to sketch to calm down, and this was the first image my brain gave me. When I finished his portrait, I stopped again for two months because I was thinking of home. If I painted Home as only peaceful, it would be a lie. It’s threatened by Hanoi’s rapid, citywide demolitions. Soon my house will disappear and I’ll no longer have a physical place where I can visit my memories. My dad holds the bird the way a house should hold a family. Ours has a date with the diggers. I can’t stop asking what will hold him and our poor family when they come. |
