Those hazel eyes…
I definitely didn’t inherit my artistic abilities from either of my parents. Trust me, they would agree on this. I’d have to say it probably stemmed from both of my grandpa’s who each have/had their own creative strengths. My paternal grandpa, known as Pop to everyone back home, blames my artistic abilities on my hazel eyes…which is ironic because I didn’t get those from my parents either (go figure)!
Like my maternal grandpa Papa, my Pop is also pretty special to me. He’s known in the family as Mr. Fix-It. If he can’t fix it, then it’s more than likely broke. And he can fix anything. He’s also an excellent shot, lover of all Westerns (I get it honestly I guess), and the master of one-liners. “He who hesitates is lost!”
Another attribute of Pop is that he’s always one to lend a helping hand (wanted or not) or to go out of his way for someone. Right after college, one of our neighbors who farmed most of the land around our community fell ill right during harvest time. And who was the first one to jump in and help? Pop.
He showed up on the farm every day to fix tractors that routinely broke or to pick cotton. During this time, I was notorious for going down and finding him when I got home from work. Most often, I just wanted to ride in the tractor with him. He was always full of stories and teaching applications as he called them.
A year ago, Pop asked me to paint a portrait of him so “I would always remember my Pop.” I laughed at the idea, because if you know my work it’s a complete 180 of what I normally paint. Instead, I decided to recreate a photo I had taken one evening while picking cotton.
This will always be one of my favorite pictures of him. He had hopped off to double check his row count - and curse a little - at the crooked rows he was about to pick. Looking at the painting, I can still hear the picker’s engine, smell the exhaust I seemed to carry with me for days after, and the opinionated statements of how to properly plant a straight row that ensued after the count.
One thing Pop has always told me growing up is that my hazel eyes see the world a little differently. I don’t think I fully understood what he meant until I finished this piece for him. I don’t want to remember my Pop through a simple portrait. I’ll likely remember him fixing my gun, his witty one-liners (if you know you know) or riding the tractor picking cotton.
I gifted this piece to him at Christmas. He didn’t say a whole lot at first, but I’ll never forget him looking over at me after taking the painting in with that knowing grin saying “them hazel eyes have done it again.”
My cousin, Chad, and myself rabbit hunting with our Pop.
