There are childhood memories that stay in the body, not just the mind.
Standing close to my dad while he welded. The heat, the smell, the shower of sparks flying off hot metal. Holding a welding rod just to have something to hold, just to be part of it, just to be near him. Working on custom cars was his world, and I wanted to be in it.
At the center of that world and my memory is his welding mask. Worn, familiar, the real thing. And on the front of it, painted by a young man in his circle, a monstrous face staring back.
This painting is built from that memory. Photographs of real welding flames layered and transformed into something surreal and saturated — vivid reds, oranges, and gold, the hot-rod flames that ran through everything he loved. A welding torch trails a purple arc across the frame. Color pushed past what the eye can register in a workshop and into the world of a child standing close, watching sparks fly, holding on as magic is being created.
The young man who painted that face — I don't know his full story. Only that he made something remarkable, and that he is no longer here.
This painting is, in part, for him.
Welding with Pops is a digital composition.
