My parents came to see the show

My parents came to Burgh House this week. It’s the first time either of them has seen my work on a gallery wall since I was 14.

Like other visitors, they didn’t go round in any particular order but zigzagged – stopping at one print, moving off to another, then doubling back to something they’d already passed.

My mother, in a blue jacket, looks up at framed prints on a gallery wall beside exposed brick.

My mother, hands clasped, looks up at a print in the Burgh House corridor; my father stands further down the hall by more framed prints.

My father, in a tan suede jacket, walks along the Burgh House corridor looking at framed prints, an exit sign visible ahead.

My mother, seen from behind, looks at a framed print of a book-lined living room with a patterned rug.

My mother shields her eyes from bright sunlight, looking up at two prints, one showing a sunlit yellow room with two figures.

My father, seen from behind, leans in closely to examine framed prints in a corner of the Burgh House gallery.

Afterwards, the two of them stood for a photograph under the diptych – self-portraits I made in front of other people’s paintings.

My mother and father stand smiling together beneath a small framed two-panel self-portrait print at Burgh House.

And then the three of us, together.

A selfie at Burgh House: me, smiling, with my mother and father, framed prints on the wall behind us.