they all are reasons to me
This is my father, and our dog, in the park, when it was cold outside.
He wanted me to take this picture because he wanted to look serious. Of course, he looks like hes about to crack up.
I guess my family structure is that my father and I are on one side of the characteristic spectrum, and my sister and mother are on the other. We just have similar personalities. I can feel myself turning into him, its kind of strange. He got to do what he loved for a long time, that is, printing books by hand, but now he sold his press and all of the hottype that went along with it. It made me sad, because I remember when I was a kid I would go to the 'officina' as we called it, to chill. I would not have used the word 'chill' then. I would draw and watch my father work, and he always smelled like ink and cigars and paper and clove oil. He still does.
He is also a very very strange man. He makes up theme songs for my sister's friends, and even let me let me paint his toenails black. He likes to say words in weird ways, and repeats them over and over and over and over. It's lovable but pretty damn irritating. He likes Samuel Beckett, and remembers every detail about what year, how much he paid, and where he was when he bought all of his first edition books. He used to listen to Led Zeppelin and Jimi Hendrix and the Bee Gees, but sold all of his records, for which I could kill him for doing. Jerk.
It was hard for him I think to sell his livelihood. He's still going to have a gallery, but the press, the press was more like a dream of his.
Anyway, I'm officially a junior now. How freaky is that.