Father In Gold

I painted this painting over a period of ten years. The painting is called My Father in Gold.
 
It all started when I was at Bezalel Art School in Jerusalem. One day I was going through the discarded junk from the wood shop and found a lovely small piece of plywood with the name “Ruthie” on the back. It was an old piece of plywood that someone—maybe Ruthie—didn’t need anymore. So I took it and thought that it would be a great canvas to paint on.
 
I took it up to my studio and, after a few days, created a still life using the things I had lying around as an exchange student who doesn’t usually have much. I placed a mustard tin, a glass Coke bottle, a book, a map, plus a small piece of wood I found somewhere. I walked into the beautiful rose garden just outside my studio in Bezalel and picked three rose flowers. I used a blanket/shawl that I had to give the set some texture. I also spray-painted some newspapers and lined the wall to give it more ambience.
 
I began painting this still life in oils — the very same oils I used at the beginning of my career, paints I got from my father. Over that year, which was 2015, I kept painting and leaning into it. I became hyper-fascinated with attention to detail, trying to make it super realistic. But I never completed the work.
 
After I finished the year abroad, I came home and brought this piece with me. At first, I thought I would finish it in art class, but after a while, I never seemed to resolve it. I kept at it on and off over the next few years. I remember one night, in a state of angry inspiration, I took to it with a ballpoint pen, but still nothing seemed to complete it.
 
I always kept it close to me, having it in my room for many years.
 
From 2015 to 2025.  My dad passed away in 2018, and I lived my life going through hell and back. At one point, I got to a place I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I lived through addiction and made stupid decisions to the point where I could not do anything but call for help. I got the help and began living again.
 
In 2022, I met my wife, and in 2024, we got married. This is when the painting seemed to resolve itself.
 
One day, sitting in my studio, I had gold leaf that I intended to use on the studio number. Sitting with this piece for so many years, I had mulled over what needed to be done a lot, and finally, on that one beautiful day, I realised what it needed. So I gold-leafed the artwork, and suddenly it looked like it was complete. After so many years, it finally felt finished.
 
The only thing was that the gold leaf was imitation gold. So I went to the art supply store and bought real 24-carat gold leaf. I gold-leafed the piece again. Conceptually, it wasn’t complete before — now, with the real gold, it was complete.
 
Side note: I used the imitation gold leaf and signed it in 2024, but only got the real gold in 2025, so it was truly completed in 2025.
 
This was ten years spent on a single artwork.
 
Now the interesting part is that, looking back at my life, I see that it is split into ten-year periods. The first ten years were me living a rich and full life with my father in good health. The next ten (or nine) years were me dealing with my father living with Alzheimer’s and me living in that space, not having the opportunity to leave the situation. And then the last period is me going out into the world and having the ability to become my own person.
 
This artwork is an exploration into the beginnings of me being me.
 
After I completed the artwork, not only did I start crying — I was extremely emotional — but I also took it to show whoever I could. And the first place I took it was to show my family, and they happened to be at the park where my dad would go daily for a walk in his later years.
 
The only other time the artwork was shown was to Ricky Burnett and the curators of the Goodman Gallery.
 
This artwork sits on my bedside table, close to me.
 
Now the frame is a whole story on its own. How can you have such an important painting just framed in any old frame? So I began thinking that the frame was extremely important to the painting, and I decided to hand-carve my own frame for this piece.
 
I began carving, and in the process, I realised I was unintentionally carving my father’s face into the frame.
 
This piece is very important.
 
The frame is incomplete and may take years to carve, but I have decided to sell it even though the frame is not finished. Once someone purchases the artwork, I will have the money and can afford to dedicate the time and resources to completing the frame.
 
The Coke bottle — a core memory for me was driving on long drives throughout South Africa with my father and family. That desire to adventure.
 
The map — the places we travelled. The Sunday mornings after breakfast, looking at a map and saying, where to? Getting out and going.
 
The mustard tin — it was my father’s favourite. He always used to tell the story of how Mr Colman made his money, not from the mustard that people ate, but rather the mustard they left on their plates.
 
The book is history.
 
And the flower — a motif used time and time again to showcase how delicate life really is, capturing something that dies and immortalising it.