I never met my father’s father.
My grandfather.
He passed away well before I was born, leaving behind only a few photographs and no videos or recordings of his voice. Yet he exists in me, his genetic legacy is coursing through my veins, passed down through my father and now extending to my children.
This is a paradox. Someone being simultaneously unknown yet intrinsically part of who I am. I have called this painting series "The Closest Unknown." He is the only grandparent I never met.
So far, I've completed eleven portraits of him, with plans for dozens more. Each time I approach the canvas, something different emerges. I begin with the same limited source material (one of just three precious photographs) but the results are never the same.
Some days, I find myself applying bold strokes in warm hues. Other times, blues and greens dominate the palette. For some I started from a blank white canvas. In others black. The painting i’m working on right now is primarily black and red.
These variations aren't mistakes.
They are revelations.
