He took the portfolio back and put it back down below his chair.  At her question, he thought back to the dark drawings he had done back years before.  His expression going a bit dim thinking of the front line.  He could talk about it now, though even now, it was hard.  He had been asked the question before, but usually, they did not really want to know, they just asked because it was expected.  He had learned to give some brief meaningless answer like, 'it called tae me'.  But Nesah, seemed to really want to know, so he told her.

"When I was younger, someone saw some of my drawings and paintings and asked if I would join 'im along the front line tae send back images and nae just words tae the newspapers.  Young as I was, I thought it would be an adventure."  He gave a shrug.  "And it was, at first.  I drew what I saw and made it 'real' tae those that got the papers.  Troops getting ready for their first time going out.  Men younger than I was.  Sitting there laughing, playing cards, getting the rifles ready... that kind of thing." 

He traced his finger along the table for a moment.  "I was getting all kinds of compliments from the newspaper readers sent via various people.  More of the young men wanted to have a drawing to send to their lass or home to the family.  I was making a name of myself around London, through England and then beyond there.  It went tae my 'ead."  He gave her a wry look.

"Then we got to the 'real' line front.  Men in pain.  Maimed.  Dying.  Dead."  He looked out at the dining room away from Nesah for a moment to gather himself, just seeing some of the images in his mind.  "I sent those images to the papers tae.  Some were tae much for them, but many ended up in the papers.  For me though, I was capturing it all.  I did it for two years."  He paused again.  "Then I saw one of the young lads, that I had gotten to draw back at the beginning.  One wanting tae send a drawing back 'ome tae 'is lass.   Then another.... and another."  He looked up at the ceiling and rubbed his lips.

"I couldnae draw any more.  Nae a thing.  I could nae pick up a pencil nae a brush, naething.  I broke down.  They said I just got sick, but it was more than that.  I was broken inside."  He admitted it without shame.  Just saying it.  "I was sent back 'ome and just sat on the highest cliff up in the highlands I could find.  Just trying to take it all in and try and wash out the other images.  I didn't draw or sculpt for aboot a year.  I couldn't."

"Then I saw some local wee small bairns.   Just playing in the dirt and laughing.  Smiling.  I felt the urge to sculpt those 'appy faces and finally I slowly began tae create again.   Looking for life."  His eyes lit up again as he thought about some that he now drew and painted.  "Even in darkness and poverty, laughter and joy.  Looking for a rich older woman scolding a young couple that paused a task to laugh and joke."  He looked to Nesah.  "Beautiful scenes that are not covered with pain and death, but rather the colors of the beginning or the ending day to rest."

"Women working and yet finding a moment to pause and laugh.  A young lad helping an old man push a cart, showing heart is still oot there.  A strong woman facing the weather or wandering through the ruins of the past as if looking for the path to the future."  He gave a short smile.  "Looking beyond the dark things and looking for something to draw to the lighter things though it can be 'ard and nae easy tae find.  I draw and paint things that bring emotions, show life be it mourning or joy, strength, or a moment of weakness.  Or scenes that draw an emotion to me.  Like the ruins."