color he’d been holding back. They’re loud and bright and unafraid, and they’ve started to sell, and the first show he had, he hung a single red jacket on the wall of the gallery beside the paintings, with a small card that said: “For my father, who was afraid of color his whole life, and left me the courage to be brave with it. This is the bright thing you saved for. I made it, Dad. I finally made it.”
I keep the letter — a copy; Eric has the original.
