My grandfather started to get sick again towards the end of 2007 and i felt myself slipping. My sister Stefanie and i lived with him to help my grandmother out there was hardly time for school, much less art. I painted probably once a week when usually i painted once a day and never really attached emotion with my works, i felt this time i needed to. I painted a crying self portrait in black and white and with more emotion and less color. Attaching a red faded ribbon unraveling around my face i thought it was complete and perfect to my standards. When asked about the painting, i wanted to cry every time. The painting was titled "Dear Grandpa" and the ribbon signified how I've come a little undone since my grandpa's death. He was in bed for almost a whole year. it made me sick to know the one who taught me everything, how to draw, photograph, and think like an artist is stuck in a bed. It makes me upset to see a man who use to take us out to the desert just to look around stuck to a bed all day. i loved him more than anyone, and im glad to know he's in heaven out of pain.
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