This painting is not my father’s. This one is mine. Years ago, before I had kids, before I was married, I visited my parents for the weekend. My dad’s artwork was still in its early stages and he invited me to make a painting with him. I wasn’t allowed to watch the entire process (he was very secretive about his methods) but he gave me license to create it how I wanted. This painting was the result.
I wasn’t thrilled with how it turned out and we both laughed at my sorry attempt at painting. But he kept it, sealed it, and prepped it for hanging. As a joke, when he returned it to me, he had written the word “Appendages” on a piece of masking tape on the back. The word has long since faded, but the tape remains.
I came across this painting while Tim was cleaning out the garage. I had nearly forgotten its existence. While I still think it’s ugly, it carries a deeper meaning to me… A special moment in time that I shared with my father.
Today marks six months since his passing. Six months of his silence. Six months of wanting him here. Every once in awhile I listen to his last message to me. I watch videos where I hear his voice. I look at his paintings.
It’s hard to lose a best friend.
But at least I have “Appendages,” which has earned itself a special place in my heart and on my wall.