My Father's Art

I'm chewing through these pages at a breakneck speed. They'll be up tomorrow, thank god.

Meanwhile, here is a slightly blurry but decent photograph of one of my father's largest and weirdest paintings. I just realized I've never shared any of his stuff on my blog, and I really ought to (even though we're estranged). It was painted when I was very little, about two decades and a million burned bridges ago.



I can see a lot of my style in his work, which isn't surprising since he's the one whose work I studied the most. Like father, like son, I guess. Except I am not schizophrenic (yet, and hopefully not ever) and I only wish I had his talent for painting.

The canvas of this piece (whose title I've forgotten) once had to be repaired after my mother's lover Mark (they were poly in the early 80s) freaked out on acid and stabbed the alien figure right in the big spooky black eyes.