The Middle Way
At my father's funeral, I slipped the last drawing he had made into his paint-less hands. It was of the view outside his office window. As a child I had craned over his shoulder, learning how to draw from his movements. Whilst he preferred landscape (because he said it was very forgiving) it was always the portraits that intrigued me the most (which he said, weren’t). I would watch him battle to capture motion and emotion, wooing the pencil’s urge to age unaccountably, drawin
