I have a vision. A vision of an exhibition, a tribute to my late grandmother. My father inherited a box full of my grandmother’s photos of her life, her memories, her life captured in moments of one second all fitting into one box. A life, fit into a box. A box that was handed down to my father when she passed, a box that will later be passed down again. This box holds hundreds to thousands of photos, from when she was a child, her quinceañera, her wedding, her children, and her grandchildren. Her milestones, her stages in life: from a daughter, to a wife, to a mother, to a grandmother. Her parents, her siblings, her birthdays, her trips, and moments in between, important enough for her to mark and capture into a photograph. 

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       I loved my grandmother. And it hurt when she passed. She was a friend and I loved her dearly. I was young, a child, but I missed her when she left too early. I’m left with the memories I have with her and the stories I hear in remembrance. I find myself circling back to the thought of her life and visual memories in one box. This box keeps my attention. Why? How can a whole life, a life lived, fit into a box? How incredible that a memory of someone, and all these moments, fit so snugly. I miss her and wonder what conversations we’d have now that I’m older. The memory of her is kind, humorous, joyful, and tender. It’s a feeling of loving trust with someone pure and full. 

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       This box. It’s in the basement of my parents house. We’ve scanned photos, photos now files, files that sit still in a folder on a hard drive. I’m grateful for having them, but this life in one box, in this digital realm…it doesn’t feel…deserved enough. Deserving of a life lived, of her mark on my life, and what she meant to me, and what she meant to my family. I want to see her more, and I want to honour her and her life by bringing these moments and memories out of the closed box from the basement and displaying them on a wall. A wall I walk by, a wall I sit in front of. I want to spend time, hours, and days looking over one brush stroke at a time, dedicating myself to recreating, breathing life back into these memories piece by piece as she and her life emerges onto a canvas. And I’ve done that. I’ve accomplished that. I’ve painted her three times already. 

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       I first painted her when she was around my age, in her twenties, and surrounded by an abstract background representing how I felt around her and how I remembered her. In the second painting, she is around five years old, with a doll, a bird, and what looks like her knitting. Funny enough, all three things that I connect memories of her to: a doll she would give me and play with, teaching me how to knit, and pet birds she would take care of. I combined that photograph with another of her three children at around the same age of five. In that painting, her and her children live in that space as kids, free of any parent-child dynamics and responsibilities, but as kids playing and hanging out together in this dream-like world past the constraints of time. In the third, I painted her holding my dad as a baby onto a blanket. Creating a painting onto a soft, tangible, and comforting item added to that sense of connection and touch when missing someone. 

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       I may not know the full context of a photo, or what she felt or was thinking when a photo was taken. I may not ever know. I won’t always know what moment I am painting and recreating. I can’t know everything as much as I would like to. Nonetheless, it was part of her life, and a moment that built up to who she was. A person who I loved. 

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       Back to this vision of a tribute exhibition. I hope to one day have an exhibition that chronologically showcases her life in fine art…to walk along a path, walk with her as she grows and lives her life, a life worth remembering and honouring. I knew her for a short period of time, and times I do not fully remember as a child. But I can try to connect to her and learn more about who she was because of this box of photographs, the questions that come along with them as I see them, and the people who knew her to answer for me. 

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Do you have a box? Do you have someone living in memory? 

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I know not everybody paints and that’s why I created Silva Heritage Paintings, to create paintings that bring life back into memories for those who want a painting of their loved ones that last generations.