When I was a kid, hanging above our fireplace was a painting of a bare tree on a yellow background. In between normal kid activities, I’d often lay on the floor staring at it for what felt like hours. Sometimes I’d hang upside down off the couch and look at it from that angle—suddenly, the tree looked like a root.
When my parents retired and downsized, they asked what we wanted from their belongings. This painting was one of my only requests. It followed me through apartments in Chicago, Ft. Lauderdale, and Kansas City. It hung above the fireplace in my first home, and today it’s the centerpiece of my house in Leawood. When I turned 30, I had it tattooed on my left forearm—my only tattoo.
The coolest part? My grandfather—Pepe—painted it. He was a creative soul who made his living as a carpenter and electrician. He never stopped learning: late in life he taught himself guitar, learned email, and picked up new hobbies. Painting was one of those hobbies. That makes this piece deeply sentimental—it ties me to my childhood, my family, and especially to him. One regret I have is never asking him what he saw in the painting.
From a creative standpoint, I love how much is packed into it. To me, yellow has always meant summer, warmth, and growth. A bare tree suggests winter or hibernation. The two balance each other out, almost dancing at the edge of surrealism. And the tree isn’t centered, which gives it movement and tension. Best of all, it works right-side up or upside down—tree or root—depending on your perspective.
For me, that’s the lasting lesson of this painting: beauty often comes from perspective, and the way we choose to look at things can completely change what we see
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