My chiaroscuro portrait of my grandfather, who passed away last week. He was many things throughout his life: a hair stylist, a painter, a diner owner. His mind stayed sharp but he had let his body go, something he cautioned me about a few Thanksgivings ago. He was always very frank, expressing to me the emotional trials of aging (he hated how skin eventually got crêpey for example). I share all this because I think it’s rare for men of that generation to be so vulnerably insecure, talking to his granddaughter like a regular friend. He always liked beautiful things and was particular moved by western indigenous art. This portrait was taken with 1 light, relatively on the fly, when he was feeling up for a portrait. He was pleased his granddaughters became artists (my sister is a comic artist).
