10 years ago my grandfather died. He was a very good and passionate carpenter. He had a little garage full of tools in the garden of his house, where he built small things on the weekends. Things like chairs, little cupboards for my grandmother or anything people from the neighborhood asked him to create. When he died, we locked his garage and put the key to it in to a little box in the kitchen. From time to time I visit the little cabin and the last time I took my camera with me and tried to capture the soul of the little things he left behind.
Everything seems to vanish under fine layers of dust and time. But you can still can feel his presence, his character seems to be reflected by all the tools, the woodsticks, his pencils, the way he left things behind. I miss him very much.