I confess there is something rousing about entering a stranger’s home.

Moments of simple pleasures.

A second line is a jazz funeral without a corpse. . .

Through the darkness of future past.

Even when it’s for the best, divorce is the worst. It’s like grieving a death, but the corpse continues to breathe.

But the painting is a journey, a transformation, as chaos travels to a hallowed place depicted by an angel with a sacred heart, the colors transition from dark to light. There is hope.