I have been incredibly haunted by a gesture. The face you make when you tell me those stories from a harder time.

 

A time when you escaped one war only to fight and run from another.

 

The children you lost along the way. 

 

The loss of your innocence as captured in that portrait.

 

Your gaze. Your inescapable presence.  It is hard and burns, yet soft, transparent and fluid. I express it on a page as I imagine it. each new mark informed by the one which came before it. translucent and cool in its nature.

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I use the marks to escape your haunting during a time when the world, like myself, remain haunted by a different kind of inescapable presence.