My dad was a roofer.

Share

I still remember those days, sitting on a very high stool, in his workshop/office. Busying myself with lord-knows-what, while he worked. Little pieces and parts…all of them, scattered on the desk. Lots of pencils. Drawings. Unopened mail. Invoices never sent. Collections never pursued. No systems or procedures in place. Just the art. Just the art […]

Share