Every Monday, for almost 4 years, my father used to wake me up, at exactly 5 o'clock in the very morning. I would find on the table 2 or 3 fried eggs. I eat, smoke a quick cigarette and then, no matter how cold it is outside or how tired he is, he takes me to the railway station in his old car. I was travelling to another city, weekly, going to high school. What you see in the painting is exactly what I used to see in the very first moment of waking up, when I opened my eyes - my father.

waking up