A Paintbrush In Her Other Hand

Quite a few years ago I was in an older couple’s home.  He was a photographer and had photographs everywhere.  Every single picture, of her.   One picture I found endearing more so than the others.  It was a small photograph.  She was on a step ladder, holding on with one hand, a paint brush in her other hand reaching to the sky.  She was looking down at him, laughing.  He took the picture to make it look like she was painting the sky.  I thought it was brilliant.  It made me laugh and we talked about his inspiration for it. 

He smiled, remembering.

She could not join us in that conversation, having lost the ability to remember, and the ability to speak.

So he did.  For both of them.

But in that picture, they were forever having fun together, laughing together.  Enjoying one another.  I think about that moment often.  Then I think of all of the moments they had from when that picture was taken-to the moment I was standing in their home and she was no longer an active participant of their lives.

I think often, of those fleeting moments.


I took my photograph and thought of them while I drew this.

Paint, Sky, Art