The Story of Space Cade
Space Cadet is an acrylic painting on an 18”x24” canvas I completed in March of this year. I don’t consider this to be one of my standout pieces visually. It’s fine. I like it, but I was surprised when I got an offer on it within a couple of hours of posting it on Instagram. I was even more surprised at how emotionally difficult it was for me to let go of it when it came time.
I know that when I sell a painting, the odds of me ever seeing it again are pretty low. It’s something I came to terms with when I first started selling. I grew to kind of like the idea of little pieces of me out in the world, taking on a life of their own (but that’s a blog post for another time).
The people close to me are probably thinking it's more out of character for me to not cry over something (and they aren’t wrong), but when I handed off Triple Threat and Surely Knot, I was thrilled! Two of my favorite commissions ever were gone, and I didn’t even think twice about it.
Why was Space Cadet different?
When I was in elementary school, my dad had a kayak he liked to take over to Mosquito Lagoon and fish. Only a dad would think taking a 9-year-old with no upper body strength and no patience on a kayak fishing trip is a fun way to spend the afternoon.
I went with him periodically through the years, but one day has always stood out in my memory. We headed over to the Space Coast to fish for the afternoon and watch the rocket launch. On the way home, we listened to Coldplay’s A Rush of Blood To The Head album, and I watched the stars become clear in the sky through the sunroof from the passenger seat. Something unlocked inside of my little brain. I didn’t know it yet, but I learned a lot about myself that day.
I love being outside. I love fishing and being by the water. I love observing the world around me. I love considering things that make me feel small– like space travel. I love spending time with my dad. I love “God Put A Smile Upon Your Face.” I love cars with sunroofs and falling asleep on long drives.
I didn’t wake up the next day as an entirely different person. It was as slow and subtle as growing up. I listen to a lot of soft/alternative rock now. I never turn down a fishing trip, especially with my dad. I like learning about constellations and lunar phases. I’ll always let someone else drive.
I may have landed on these traits a million other ways, and I’m not ignoring all of the other very influential days in my life, but there was a butterfly effect around that day that’s still rippling through my life.
Back to Space Cadet: In December of 2021, I was bored after dinner one night and started painting. I had recently discovered Brittany Fanning (if you aren’t familiar, absolutely go check out her work!) and read her interview with Contemporary Art Collectors, where she described her work as having “a juxtaposition of serenity and chaos.” I liked that notion of serenity and/versus chaos. If you look at her work, you’ll see how I came to a rocket launch. And what did I know of serenity in relation to rockets? Red fish.
It was just like that day on the kayak. There was serenity in fishing around the mangroves with my dad, watching a little burst of light fly through the sky. There was chaos in being a horrible kayak partner and feeling overwhelming awe of life and outer space and the ocean.
At that moment, I didn’t mean to make something that would be so special to me. Even when I finished it over three months later, I didn’t recognize its importance. I thought it was just another filled canvas–another piece closer to something truly breathtaking. It was only when I pulled up to meet the buyer that I felt a little ping of anxiety about letting it go and never being able to look at it again. It’s funny how the subconscious works.
I sat in the parking lot and thought about that day and realized what I had done while painting. I put on some Coldplay, turned the canvas over to its new owner, and went home to cry. I reflected on the process of the painting and the easy feeling of content I had while working on it. I reflected on that day 15 years ago and the minor details that still stand out to me. I connected the dots in those details–the music, the smell of dead fish at the boat ramp–to the things that make me feel at home now.
I may never see that painting again, but I will always have that day. I’m glad that like the others, it's a piece of me out in the world. It was an unintentional moment of catharsis for me.
The new owner is an avid fisherman from Central Florida. I’m not sure how into rockets he is, but I know for certain he’s caught more reds on the East Coast (or anywhere) than I ever have. Even though I had a moment of panic in the parking lot, I’m glad that he has it. It just adds to this cool story I got to share with you.