My Grandfather, James Patrick Smith, when he was only 20 or so. Today he’s 80. But everyday, he’s one of the greatest, most influential people in my life. My family says I take after him, but I know I’ll never compare. He’s made entirely of good qualities. If I become just a fraction of the man he is, I’ll have done pretty ok.
Happy Birthday Gramp. Can’t wait to show you all the things I accomplish by your 90th.
Love,
Kyle
The company I work with, Royale, had its holiday party at our studio recently. Doubled as a small gallery showing for our staff artists. Everyone submitted a lot of great pieces. I had thirty or so in the showing. Sizes varied from 8x8s to 20x20s. Some framed, some not. More sold than I’d expected and all the proceeds went to Charity Water. Its a great thing.It was strange putting my face to my art. Really don’t ever talk about it much. You wouldn’t know I do this unless someone told ya. I’m fortunate to have so many friends that appreciate and support what I love to do. Choosing guests was somewhere between a rock and a hard place. Couldn’t invite fifty people. In the end, it was them that made the night for me. Theres a whole mess of pictures on the new Royale Blog. All in all, a way fun and sincere night.
Charlie, Jess, Ryan and myself. Hadn’t seen these ones in years. Didn’t even know Ryan and Jess lived here in Los Angeles. Charlie and I grew up together. Met the summer between fifth and sixth. We’ve grown a lot taller and wider since, but here we are, in the same picture. Can’t help but smile thinking about the all things we’ve done and lies I’ve told my parents to do them. But I always made my curfew. Was glad to see my friend.
Kev and I. Known him over six years, four of those we worked together. Friday was his last day. He left to catch a dream. There’s no line I could draw or words I could write that’d get across how monumental he’s been to me. So I won’t. I’m glad he’s gone. He’ll finally shine so bright.
Me and my one and only brother, when we still ran wild, with the Gulf of Mexico to our backs. He turned Thirty last month, can’t wrap my head around it still. I’ve grown taller than him, but he’ll always be my big brother. He’s got a reputation for being quiet, but I think he just chooses his words very carefully, always respected that about him. I believe in him, and have pride in him, always.
Happy Thirty Joey.
My Dad, Montreal, September 1982 on a motorcycle trip. Only twenty-three here, but already married four years, and already a father. Makes me wonder sometimes what the hell I’m doing. Don’t think there was ever a time he wasn’t invincible. Nor will there be, and thats why hes my Dad.
Happy Fathers Day Dad.
Love,
Kyle.
