My father, whom I called “Tata” 
(Slavic nickname for ‘daddy’)
painted many portraits of me...  

...I had to pose for hours -
meditation training at an early age!  

Every day, my father would sit at his easel from early morning until he lost the light.  Then he’d retire to the piano and play a medley of the most passionate interpretations of Beethoven or Mozart sonatas, Chopin etudes or Brahms lullabies. 

He passed away suddenly over Thanksgiving weekend, 1970, after an accidental fall.  Having become preoccupied with my own teenage interests, it was an unexpected and shocking loss.  I will miss him forever. 

The following lyric will be translated into Serbian and the song and music video are works in progress...



Your hands held me tight;

I had no fear of falling

Your hands played the keys,


I followed the calling  

Copy of Blue Jumper

They painted my eyes,

my gaze was straight and true

Much was said in silence,

just between us two

All over the house, 

you tracked spots of Prussian Blue

Copy of Anna Reading Babar

My father,

looking down from the stars above

From now until forever,

I will never forget your love

Miss your hands, I treasure

the first you ever drew,

Copy of Tonka Sleeping

 They immortalized

the first born son you hardly knew

Copy of The Actor

They painted "The Actor"

holding a mask for his play

Copy of Indian Summer

 They captured mother’s beauty

on an Indian Summer’s day


Our hearts and our souls

You did portray

Copy of The Painting Lesson

My father,

looking down from the stars above

From now until forever,

I will never forget your love

Copy of Kachinas

You painted Kachinas dancing,

on Hopi native land

Copy of Canyon De Chelly

A Navajo family in the Canyon

Copy of The Procession

A Pueblo procession as they proudly stand


Riders on the Great Plains,

a native’s bow and arrow 

Copy of The Buffalo Hunt

Your last brush stroke,

the brown fur of a buffalo

A sacrifice of sacred beast

provides for all a home and feast

Mixed Media on Paper
Borislav Bogdanovich
Estate Stamp, c. 1935
13 1/2" x 19" inches

Your country was at war when you had to flee

Across the ocean to the Statue of Liberty


When you met the Native tribes, your eyes could finally see

It was then that you found the Land of the Free


You painted, 'til you lost the light,

Every day until you lost the fight


Each work of art that you left behind,

Your legacy will last through time,

through time...

Miss your voice, no more good mornings, no goodbyes that Winter’s day

It took years to forgive you; there’s so much left to say

Lived a lifetime without you, still memories abound

I was just a girl when you fell, from the platform to the ground

You were the first to win my heart

and the first to break it down 

My Father, far from your homeland, looking down from the stars above,

From now until forever, I will never forget your love

My Father, every day and always .... I will miss you.... and I will always miss your hands 

Anna Thea Bogdanovich

MISS YOUR HANDS © 2014-2019  Anna Thea Bogdanovich