This piece was born in a small neighborhood cafe that felt like an old armchair for the spirit. I sat there one day, needing something to draw, and simply let my eyes settle on what was already holding me: a space built with love, meant to gather people and stitch a community back together. As my pencil moved, something deeper opened. Months before, I had felt called to create art for men who had lost their mothers, though I didn’t yet know why. At the time of this drawing, the owner and his mother worked side by side behind the counter.
I finished the piece quietly and didn’t share it with him until half a year later. Not long after, his mother passed. Maybe that’s coincidence, maybe it’s the way intuition hums beneath the surface of things. What I do know is that the artwork became more than a sketch of a cafe. It became a small lantern for someone in grief, a gesture of peace offered before either of us understood it would be needed.
This piece carries that moment: the sense of home, the unseen threads, the quiet faith that creation can comfort long before it’s called to.
