My Dad - MAGGIE HUBBARD

I gained a steady acceptance of his absence by finding his fleeting presence.

The chair in which he read, the small art studio where he painted, the many pairs of reading glasses he would inevitably lose—these were the pieces of my father I could document. I painted quickly and fervently after his death in 2013; each painting taking no longer than a day. I worked in response to a house which was changing rapidly. The tools in the garage were used and put back differently, art and history magazines were cleaned off the kitchen table, clothing was removed from dresser drawers; each change made it harder to see where my father existed. And so before the small reminders disappeared it was my hope and purpose to remember my father in the best way I knew how— by using the skills he taught me.