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PENCIL
DAD
He always wanted to be an artist and drew all his life. While traveling, he would send us letters with small sketches—the green Caucasus Mountains seen from a window, a weirdly shaped water cup from a mineral resort, small details of a room. 
At home, our walls were covered with large paintings. He would enlarge magazine reproductions of famous artworks onto canvas and paint them, little by little, with oils. Once, he let me add a stroke to one of his works. The painting is still with our family and I can spot the stroke right away. When, many years later, I saw the original at The State Russian Museum, it was like meeting an old friend. 
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