If I hadn’t admired a friend’s post last week, where he posted a fine painting of flowers, I may not have thought of writing about the painting I have sitting on my study wall. There is a history to this painting of pink roses in an old-fashioned vase (circa late 1940s), which was possibly done as a study from an image in a book, or calendar. The book may have well been a ‘how to paint’ variety, showing step by step processes. My father clearly studiously emulated the image – whatever its provenance. The sketch, painted in watercolour on a primed piece of cardboard, was admired by those who saw it, including myself and siblings. I was a teen when my father died, and any art of his carries special meaning.

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