Steady Enough
I’ve spent a lot of time sitting with these hands while I painted them—every scar, every callus, every little shake that comes from a life lived hard. The airbrush isn’t just a tool for him; it’s the thing that allowed him to drown the noise in life.
As I worked, the painting kind of shifted… it stopped being a portrait and turned into a quiet tribute to resilience, regret, and the way creativity keeps people tethered to the world. From one artist to another.
Steady Enough
I’ve spent a lot of time sitting with these hands while I painted them—every scar, every callus, every little shake that comes from a life lived hard. The airbrush isn’t just a tool for him; it’s the thing that allowed him to drown the noise in life.
As I worked, the painting kind of shifted… it stopped being a portrait and turned into a quiet tribute to resilience, regret, and the way creativity keeps people tethered to the world. From one artist to another.
Hands of generations. Tiny hands seeking comfort, Grandma's hands offering security. My grandbaby was so tired, and sleepy, as you can see from her tiny fist raised to her eyes. Clutching my hand, she was seeking a safe space to fall asleep. Offering her my hand, I offered reassurance. I’m here, rest now.
