Three people sit on wooden stools and carve glass at a brown wooden table. At the end of the table, a five-year old girl with short blonde hair bends over a red crayon and colors on a printed flower picture. She reminds me of Saturdays with Dad at the Art Palace in Chicago. It’s not really a palace, not like one from Europe. The Palace is a warehouse where local artists offer weekly classes in printmaking, drawing, and clay sculpture to younger artists. When I used to take classes, Dad always sat on a plastic chair in the corner and flipped through photographs. After class, when Dad didn’t have somewhere else to be, he took me to the corner coffee shop and drank cups of black coffee while I talked about my lesson. I swallow the lump that rises in my throat. At the front counter, Opal rubs a rag over a glass vase. A long red scarf dangles from her neck, and when I get closer and peek under the counter, a flowing green skirt with gold fringe drapes across her legs, and tall, shiny black boots with one-inch heels cover her feet.
What do You think about Stained Glass Summer (2011)?
