I don’t get to see my parents very often. They visited me several years ago, and I truly enjoyed showing them my life in Europe.
The second night of their visit, I threw them a small dinner party at Kloisterhöf in Frankfurt. They stayed in a hotel across the street from my flat, and I remember seeing them waiting to cross the street to meet me: my mother, in her stylishly red coat and black beret, my father in a happily contrasting teal shirt, holding his jacket. It was a striking image, at least for me. Hopefully now for them, as well.
One of the beautiful things about being an artist is the ability to transform memories into more memories. To externalize and share those memories with others, to communicate emotion and sentiment without saying a word, is one of the gifts of this craft that I appreciate the most.
My mother picked the portrait up from the framers this weekend. They have yet to hang it, but she sent this photo of the framed portrait.
Glad you both like it. Happy 47th.
