This is my father’s workshop on the night he passed away. I stayed in my childhood home with my mom after he died and was drawn to his workshop. It was his world. Every tool on the wall tells a story. Each new project shaped my childhood as I learned beside him. Though his chair is empty now, the space still feels alive with his presence.
A year later, my mom came to live with us. It eventually became clear that we needed to sell the house, and the workshop was emptied.
