The Dollhouse

My forth’s birthday gift was meant to be a wooden dollhouse my father built for me with some furniture in it and deep love in the making of it.
A week before my birthday my father was killed by stepping on a mine.
The house was not given to me then but now, years and years later I got to play with it with the same depth of love and with the addition of deep longing.
These paintings are the result of my “playing”.