A story reflecting on the connection between art and community.
About a month ago, I found myself, after taking an emergency flight across the world (saving the details of that trip for another post, when I am feeling ready), in my grandparents’ familiar robin’s egg blue, 1960s rambler house, sitting beside my grandpa as he prepared to transition into the after life.
On what would be his last day of consciousness, we had a rare moment alone together as the rest of my family bustled about in the other rooms, making phone calls and necessary preparations for what was to come.
The once tall, strong marine from my childhood laid frailly in his bed, unable to move. I held his bruised hand gently in mine and he turned his head, gazing at me with his piercing, yet kind, pale blue eyes, still sparkling as always.
He was having difficulty speaking today, but he managed to gather his strength and tell me about how much he loved the painting I did of him in college, how he’s adored looking at it as he sat in his living room all these years. But the statement that really stuck out to me from this exchange was what followed next, “I love how you can see the whole family in it.”
I’ve spent the following weeks turning this over in my mind. My grandpa was extremely well read and well spoken (in both english and, from what I can tell, german) and put great care into the words he selected. Part of me so wishes he had had the strength to elaborate on what he meant himself, but part of the power and allure in his statement seems to come from it’s simplicity.
As you can see from the photo, his words were not literal – it’s a portrait of him in the middle of telling a story. I carefully chose to depict him in this moment, as yes, he was a son, a brother, a husband, a father, a marine, a milkman, a grandfather, but the common role intertwining all of these into a beautiful constellation throughout his life was that of a masterful storyteller, carrying memories and traditions.
I’ve deduced two possible meanings from what he said, so far.
One guess is that when he saw himself in that painting, he saw the presence of the entire family – past, present, and future – through the memories, emotions, and relationships that shaped all of us. To him, it was so much more than a painting of him; it was a reflection of the bond we shared and the legacy of the family he felt was embedded in that moment.
My second guess (but not necessarily second to the prior one), is that art is often a reflection of not just the artist’s talents but also the environment and the people who have nurtured and supported that talent. He may have seen it as a culmination of the love, encouragement, and support my family provided, to help me become the person and artist I am, and needed to be to create it.
As I painted the painting in solitude late into the night in that college classroom over 10 years ago now, I remember with each brushstroke reflecting on the wrinkles adorning his face, the expressions he made and life he lived to get them, and how those moments are in a distant way entangled with my own.
Portraiture, to me, has never been just about simply depicting a face – it’s about capturing the essence, the stories, and the emotions that make a person who they are. This painting, though created with my little paws, was shaped by the heart and spirit of our family. My grandpa’s words have deepened my belief that a portrait carries with it the echoes of not just the individual, but the love, support, and shared history that surrounds them. His legacy, now woven into the fabric of this painting, lives on – not just in image, but in the enduring bonds and memories that continue to shape our lives.