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ArtistA wide cinematic expressive painting, rendered with confident brushstrokes, layered pigment, translucent washes and scraped textures, of a Mediterranean boy with very short dark hair, seated in seiza, the traditional Japanese formal sitting posture, beside a low walnut table, he and his and face turned toward the right side of the frame: limbs folded beneath him, shins and the tops of his feet flat on the floor, sitting back on his heels, spine straight, shoulders relaxed, both hands resting on his quadriceps. No shoes. He wears large, clearly visible over-ear music headphones, a vivid orange-amber T-shirt and bronze-amber shorts. On the walnut table lies an enormous ancient tome, closed, its thick leather spine facing the viewer; engraved in gold leaf along the spine, like the title of the book, is the elegant inscription "Mini Milo & J. L. Picard". There is no lamp and no light source on the table. Facing the boy, on the right side of the frame, stands Captain Jean-Luc Picard of Starfleet: bald, dignified and composed, wearing his red and black Starfleet captain's uniform with the gold delta communicator badge on his uniform. Beside him stands a sturdy wooden easel holding a large paper flip chart. With one hand he points at the chart, explaining with calm authority and warmth, while his gaze rests kindly on the boy. On the flip chart, written by hand in clear, bold English lettering, reads: "STARFLEET VALUES", followed by a list: "Exploration", "Integrity", "Compassion", "Diplomacy", "Equality", "Respect for all life", "Seek out knowledge". The boy looks up at Picard with deep interest and admiration, his expression bright, attentive and quietly awed, as though every word matters. The floor is made of large, glossy black stone slabs. Their chips and fractures have been repaired with kintsugi: irregular seams of fine gold run through the dark surface, catching the light and drawing the eye toward the two figures. Scattered sparingly across the slabs lie a few loose jigsaw puzzle pieces, some face up showing fragments of colour, some face down, as if waiting to be fitted together. The platform of slabs extends into a vast night sky of exceptional clarity, crossed by a majestic Milky Way. Its stars reflect faintly in the polished slabs, making the small scene feel suspended in the cosmos. In the distance, where the stone floor meets the sky, a thin red line marks the horizon, slightly thickened at its center, where it takes on the colors of dawn: rose, orange and pale gold. The lighting of the scene comes only from two strong directional lights. A strong golden directional light enters from the upper left, illuminating the boy's upturned face, the gold lettering on the tome's spine, the walnut grain and Picard's face and gesture. A strong petrol-blue directional light rises from the lower right, outlining the boy's headphones and shoulders, Picard's silhouette, the edges of the easel and the table, and gleaming on the polished slabs and the scattered puzzle pieces. The golden seams of the floor catch both lights and echo the distant stars. Keep the boy, Captain Picard, the flip chart and the closed tome sharply observed while the sky dissolves into fluid, semi-abstract marks. Render the scene as an expressive painting, with confident brushstrokes, layered pigment, translucent washes and scraped textures. The mood is quiet, wondrous and full of respect, a moment of learning between a child and a mentor.
In memoriam Sir Patrick Stewart (1940–2026)
On October 28th, the world lost Sir Patrick Stewart, and I find myself grieving a man I never met. Some might think that strange. I have come to believe it isn't, because in some way many of us did know him.
I grew up without the moral guidance that parents are supposed to give. There was no one at home to teach me what it means to be honest, to be fair, to stand up for others, or to take responsibility for my own choices. And yet those lessons reached me, from an unexpected place: the bridge of the Enterprise.
Captain Jean-Luc Picard was the first to show me what integrity looks like. He taught me that the first duty is to the truth, even when the truth costs you something. He taught me that freedom is damaged for all of us the first time it is denied to one person, that good people cannot blindly follow orders, and that it is possible to make no mistakes and still lose, because that is simply life. As a boy, I didn't know I was learning a moral code. I only knew that I wanted to be the kind of man he was.
Later I discovered the man behind the captain, and he turned out to be no less admirable. Patrick Stewart grew up in a home marked by violence, and instead of letting that define him, he spent his life speaking out against it, reminding men that violence is always a choice and that it is in our hands to stop it. He showed me that the past does not have to decide who we become. He believed, as Picard did, that being human means making yourself more than you are.
Today I am an adult, and many of the values I hold most dearly came to me through him: first through the character he created, then through the person he was. They are part of me now, woven together with the memories of his performances: the Shakespearean voice, the quiet authority, the warmth he brought to every role, the way he could hold a silence and make it speak.
He once said that how you live is as important as what you do. He lived that way, and he did extraordinary things. Thank you, Sir Patrick, for raising a boy you never knew.
Below I have gathered some of my favourite words, his and Picard's, which have stayed with me over the years.
Ita fiat.
Milo
