Red Vines
This is a picture of my mom around the age of 22. It was taken by my father (his knee in the bottom left) while they were living in Venezuela.
I have this in a frame on my wall and people constantly mistake it for a picture of myself, saying " I've never seen you wear that watch" or "When did you have black hair?" I've never really noticed that my mother and I look alike. But apparently we have an uncanny resemblance, except for in the nose.
As a Christmas present for my mom, I've commissioned Dillon to paint this picture. He's painted my mother before (as well as my grandmother and myself) but I chose this picture as the starting ground for a painting because she has expressed to me before how much she loves this picture of herself.
I asked her why she likes this picture so much. She said that it seems so candid - of that moment. Like my father caught one second of this true honest moment. I thought it was such a beautiful reason to admire a photo. It made me think of this entry I read in one of Albert Camus' early journals - of capturing a moment like a flower pressed between the pages of a book.
The entire entry that the line comes from is so inspirational. I find myself reading it over once again after a few months. I've already packed up the book, but as soon as I get settled from the move, I will have to share that Camus entry here.