During the eighties, there was a graffiti artist out in LA that defaced buildings with simple outlines of human figures, mainly male to my recollection. He often included some brief prose; “Like Father Like Son …” That’s the one that looks out at me from my desk. Long ago I printed the image in 4 x6 and put it in a shadow box. The photo itself is unexceptional – the graffiti is the star against a non descript wall.

I found a small toy ET figurine and (poorly) painted it white with a black vest and glued it into the box. I gave my ET a mustache and a doll’s wig. I also had a tiny rubber snake I painted white and glued that too. This was not an homage to Cornell – more like a stoned afternoon pretending to be reflective and creative.

Still, I look at the box a lot as well as other images of pops, but the walls also showcase quite a collection of cards and drawings from my beloved daughter. My angel!

She texted me a few nights ago and offered gratitude for my relentless pursuit of her continuing to explore her emotional and creative connection to her world and youthful yet pertinent perceptions. My consistent but hopefully kind encouragement to work out the endless questions with paintbrush or verse.

“Dad, your life has been very dense. I wanna mirror those journeys, too. Not the same ones, but yeah, the density!”

Meatyard was one of my early photo heroes. There were many, but he calmly showcased the emotional and charged strength of masked characters in common and familiar environments. Behind the surface questions that provoke questions of history, inheritance, and growth. A thematic that never ceases to elicit thoughtful dialogue within and outside.

I see, I feel a parallel with my own beautiful muse. She is grown now – the conversations now more revealing. This journey has been a blessing. My blessing.

The masks continue to cover our frailties and insecurities.  It’s the human condition and the impetus to continue our travels towards enlightenment. Or something better I guess.

Ralph Eugene lives on in books, galleries, and our memories. And my little Meatyard continues to progress, grow, and nourish all those blessed to love her. As the time moves on and evolution continues – the masks are altered with her own experiences and travels. And I’m thankful to still be an active part of her conversations and imagination. ♥