Papa and his painting

When I was a little kid, I love watching my dad paint.

Yes, my dad is a painter. An oil painter. And he paint beautiful things.
Too beautiful that sometimes it takes your breath away.

I will sit behind him silently and watch him as he start putting on the first color on the white canvas. Every line is his breath, his mind and his soul. Sometimes I think that he have his own music in his head while he paint.

I miss those moments.
I always tell him to paint again. Because I know he have something big to show the world.
But painting is so special to him that he want all the time he need.
All the mind, all the soul and all the idea have to be in one moment.
That moment will make it perfect.

When he finishes a painting, we will sit in front of the painting and he will ask me;
'What do you think this painting is about?'
I will go on and on explaining and he will say;
'Beautiful thoughts. That is your journey. My journey and yours doesn't have to be the same. That what makes it beautiful. You are able to have your own imagination. Your own journey.'

I hope that moment come faster, because I miss the beautiful journey that he will take me in.