Literature

Two figures stand behind parted curtains, half-seen, half-sheltered, as if looking out at something they have not yet fully named. The fabric around them is floral, familiar, almost theatrical. It evokes bedrooms, dressing rooms, safe places. But now, drawn aside, it marks a threshold: between the known and the unknown, safety and exposure, childhood and whatever comes next.

This painting holds the charged stillness of a moment before change. It speaks to that subtle line in life, sometimes in youth, sometimes much later, where the self begins to emerge from a sheltered space, blinking into a world that can be both dazzling and unkind. How can we prepare the young for that crossing? Not only with courage, but with care. Not only by pushing them forward, but by letting them linger when they need to.And perhaps the deeper truth is that these moments do not end in childhood.

There are times in adulthood, too: in grief, in love, in change, when we return to the threshold, unsure. Still behind the curtain. Still watching. Still hoping the world will meet us gently.This is not a portrait of innocence. It's a portrait of the moment just after, when everything begins to mean more than it did a moment before.

"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." Anaïs Nin

Paul is now beginning to look outward in his reflections. It is a sharp reminder how our actions have consequences for the generations to come.