the council house stained glass window


our council house wasn't like other homes in the close where we lived as a family. our dad had made a stained glass window that fitted snugly into the window frame at the bottom of the stairs.

I don't remember when it was made but I remember family talk about the baby in the womb picture. that it was intended as a celebration of my impending birth. 

on a sunny day the bright colours bled out onto the carpet running across your body as you passed by. we took it all for granted. a part of our daily lives. a part of the fabric of the house.

you could almost feel the colour. walking across the pools of primary colours felt sensual.

our house wasn't a church but the colours, even on a dull and overcast day reassured and provided tangible sensory relief. 

even after he was gone, dad’s glass artwork shone onto us as we moved through the house.