March, 2026. In an unexpected twist, Dushka and I find ourselves in Mexico City.

We have a month here to help with her family, now navigating the end-game that inevitably comes after a lifetime of prolific work. They were artists and their studio lies silent. Endless paints, canvases, tools, and the light of Mexico are mine for a month.

This is me, carping the diem.

The house, once the vibrant home of children, parents, pets, friends, guests, and endless parties.

Today it is quiet, still, and full of memories.

Behind closed doors we find rooms once full of life, now full only of light.

Each morning we rise to the warm morning light of the southern part of Mexico City.

After coffee, we gently walk the aging sculptor through her garden, admiring the beauty of the bronzes she cast over a lifetime.

Her eyes light up with the names of her creations: Isis, Naga, Jaguar, Menelaus.

The sculptor tells me the story of the day long ago when she found an abandoned Husky puppy along the road.

She brought him home and named him Juan Domingo.

His uncontrolled energy dominated the house while he lived here.

The next morning, from the top of the hospital, I see a lone Husky wandering the southern streets of Mexico City.

It must be Juan Domingo, back for a visit.

It has to be. This is Mexico City, and everything is a symbol.

We take long walks with members of the family.

We see the generations continue.

We see the names carry on.

In the parks of UNAM, Coyoacan, Churubusco, and El Bosque, we eat ice cream every day.

The sculptor recovers. She becomes more alive every day.

The stories. Oh, the stories.

“This was my father’s favorite restaurant,” Dushka says to me. “That’s the fountain I fell in when I was seven.”

Of course, we stay for lunch.

After lunch, we wander the restaurant’s walled gardens.

Lost in memories, Dushka walks ahead.

I see a single chair, alone on a path, gleaming in the afternoon light.

I think her father is sitting there, talking to her.

Of course he is. This is Mexico City, and everything is a symbol.

red coat (new)

Acrylic on canvas, 48’x36’

$5,750

Park

Acrylic on canvas, 30’x30’

$5,750

celeste (NEW)

Acrylic on canvas, 30’x30’

$5,750

Yellow Tree

Acrylic on canvas, 30’x40’

$7,600

Steps

Acrylic on canvas, 30’x30’

$8,750

Bamboo

Acrylic on canvas, 30’x30’

$5,750

Twisty Road

Acrylic on canvas, 16’x20’

$1,950

Roses

Acrylic on canvas, 30’x24’

$5,750

Therapy

Acrylic on canvas, 12’x16’

$1,250

5

Acrylic on canvas, 16’x20’

$2,250

Picnic

Acrylic on canvas, 20’x20’

$5,750

how-to

From bottom-to-top, this series shows how I paint a picture.

To help the final colors be the colors they want to be, I lay in lots of other colors underneath.

Go out and look at a tree. Are those leaves really just “green?” I’m always surprised by how much red is hiding in there, especially in the edges and shadows.

Stare at the “blue” sky for a while. Long enough for your eyes to relax and un-focus a bit. See all the other colors behind the blue? Pink, green, mauve; they’re all there. Cyan just talks louder.

And shadows. They complement of the color of the light shining on the object that casts them. Which is why in San Francisco’s uniquely Naples Yellow daylight shadows are so purple.

I don’t paint colors as they are, but as they want to be.

Dan Roam is the San Francisco-based author of six international bestselling books on visual storytelling which have been translated into 31 languages. "The Back of the Napkin: Solving Problems with Pictures" was named by Fast Company, The London Times, and BusinessWeek as 'Creativity Book of the Year.' As a consultant, Dan has helped leaders at Google, Microsoft, Snowflake, Boeing, Gap, IBM, the US Navy, and the White House solve complex problems with simple pictures. Dan and his whiteboard have been guests on CNN, MSNBC, ABC, CBS, Fox, and NPR.