Flower Child

A Sampling of Dad's Artistic Soul

My dad is a Vietnam Vet living in south Texas.

He prefers his movies gory, hunts and guts deer, thinks “pull my finger” is hilarious (even after the fourth time), loves Applebee’s, could out-cuss a sailor, and scratches his back with the claw side of a hammer.

He also fancies himself as a bit of a photog.
In a “I’m so cool I only have original outsider art in my home” kind of way, I asked him if he would send me a few of his photos to blow up and frame. Wanting art that was a bit off-kilter, I knew my father’s pics would be good for something a tad demented – a sure conversation piece for my suburban walls.

Well.

He sent me photos, hundreds actually.
All delicately composed shots of sun-filled meadows and dreamy florals. There is even one of a dragonfly caught in mid-flight.

WTF?

Lovely, lovely photos. Joyful, peace-filled pictures normally plastered to bath salt containers at Bath & Body Works.

Not at all what I was expecting.

But in a weird way, I find the shock and surprise of these photos exactly as I unknowingly wanted them to be. It’s off-putting to realize my father’s artistic soul is bursting with sunbeams and wildflowers. In fact, I find it a tad demented.
And oddly, just how I like it.