First Father’s Day without my dad this year. I went to his grave expecting to feel close to him, but that didn’t work out. My mom (who is the best of all-time — no shade) was talking my ear off. I couldn’t hear myself think. My patience had run out and I even felt angry.
So I left and went on an unplanned hike. I just needed some peace and quiet, and wanted to give myself the chance to think about him outside in an isolated environment. That’s where he showed up and I ended up feeling what I expected to feel at his grave.
I really love quiet and my dad did, too. We could just sit. We’d talk, of course, but we didn’t need to. Long stretches of silence in nature (my backyard often sufficed!), then a few words, then quiet again. It was never awkward. It was all about just being there with each other.
On my hike I took a photo of the lake and decided to flip it so the reflection of the trees is on top. That reflection represents my father. It’s all I have left of him now; he’s physically gone. But if I give myself the chance through quiet, his presence can feel extremely real.
So I made the photo listen. In a quiet room, the real trees slowly surface. Make too much noise and they won’t fully appear. The reflection is my dad always with me. The real trees are him close enough to feel. They’re only present if I can hold quiet, though, like on my hike.
On Father’s Day each year, the stillness goes further: the image turns over — the reflection becoming the forest, the forest becoming the reflection. The remembered and the real, changing places. The result is the exact photo I took, but it’s only visible one day per year.
Today is exactly five months after he died. Didn’t plan to mint art in his honor today, but that’s how it worked out.
Vestige is a new audio-responsive 1/1. For the full experience, open the piece on Transient Labs in a new window and allow microphone access.
Love you, dad.
So I left and went on an unplanned hike. I just needed some peace and quiet, and wanted to give myself the chance to think about him outside in an isolated environment. That’s where he showed up and I ended up feeling what I expected to feel at his grave.
I really love quiet and my dad did, too. We could just sit. We’d talk, of course, but we didn’t need to. Long stretches of silence in nature (my backyard often sufficed!), then a few words, then quiet again. It was never awkward. It was all about just being there with each other.
On my hike I took a photo of the lake and decided to flip it so the reflection of the trees is on top. That reflection represents my father. It’s all I have left of him now; he’s physically gone. But if I give myself the chance through quiet, his presence can feel extremely real.
So I made the photo listen. In a quiet room, the real trees slowly surface. Make too much noise and they won’t fully appear. The reflection is my dad always with me. The real trees are him close enough to feel. They’re only present if I can hold quiet, though, like on my hike.
On Father’s Day each year, the stillness goes further: the image turns over — the reflection becoming the forest, the forest becoming the reflection. The remembered and the real, changing places. The result is the exact photo I took, but it’s only visible one day per year.
Today is exactly five months after he died. Didn’t plan to mint art in his honor today, but that’s how it worked out.
Vestige is a new audio-responsive 1/1. For the full experience, open the piece on Transient Labs in a new window and allow microphone access.
Love you, dad.