24" x 36", oil on canvas
This painting is based off of a photograph of my dad when he was a baby. He's sitting in the chair that I have painted many times. It's my favorite chair to paint. It was made by his pioneer ancestor who ended up in Ogden, Utah. His dad's sisters had it until my dad asked for it many years ago. I don't know if he was aware of this photograph. I got it from his sister, Anne, not too many years ago. The chair must have been meaningful to the photographer, who I assume is one of his parents. It looks like it was pulled out of an outbuilding, was covered in cobwebs, and has a broken arm at a crazy angle. It meant enough for them to put their little son in it, to remember the chair.
It was poignant and kind of strange for me to be painting this while looking at the photograph for reference, and then looking at the actual chair. It was already worn in the same places as it was when my dad was a baby. The rungs grooved where feet would go. The arm, fixed by a large headed nail, holding it in the right spot. My dad, as a baby. How time flies. Things last longer than people sometimes. But how fitting to have this painting in the midst of the other chair paintings I'm doing. The show is full of chairs that were meaningful to my dad in some way. It's for him, and here's his opportunity to be in it.
