I was staying over at my brother and sister-in-law’s place the other day, spending delicious time with my niece and nephew.
I went to the downstairs washroom to wash my hands after Halloween costume mayhem…
… and came across a drawing my father, Roar Thorsen, had done in 2011:
Oh, how I adore this piece. It contains so much. It illustrates the beauty of Roar’s post-stroke art. It contains his intense attention to detail, his use of stickers to cover “mistakes,” his classic hands-in-the-pockets “gubbar,” his portrait of his beloved dog Tobey, as well as my cats, his love of the Swedish landscape, his joy that he felt creating his art inside a residential care centre, his pride.
I just love it. And seeing little water splashes on the piece as my nephew (little Roar) stands at the sink and washes his hands, adds so much to my love of this piece. For me, art has no end- there is no end product; art evolves over time. And these water droplets are the continuation of the marks my father made.
A picture is a poem without words. – Horace