Self Portrait in Steel: 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS 454 LS6
I don’t often give myself enough credit for what I’ve accomplished or the skills I have. When I painted this piece, I realized it wasn’t just a car painting. For whatever reason, it felt more like a self-portrait. Almost like pausing to ask myself: If I actually took a moment to see my own strength, unapologetically, what would that look like?
Why this car? A 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS 454 LS6. It is not just any car, it is a muscle car, bold and unapologetic, with an engine that speaks louder than words. There is something about that raw, undeniable power that feels symbolic. Not that I walk around in life revving like a V8, but there is a parallel: the potential, the force under the surface, even if it is not always obvious.
And yet, muscle cars also carry this paradox. They are icons, but not delicate ones. They are a little rough, loud, imperfect. They are built to turn heads, but they are also practical machines of steel, bolts, and gas. In that way, it makes sense as a self-portrait. The painting itself is not finished in the traditional sense. I could have kept pushing it further, cleaning up the edges, tightening the shading, polishing it until it looked “done.” But I chose to stop. That unfinished quality felt truer. Because that is who I am, and really who we all are. Still in motion. Still becoming.
What makes it stranger, maybe, is that I did not paint flesh and blood at all. I chose an object. A car. But cars are a lot like people. They age, they break down, they carry their histories in dents and rust, in the way the engine sounds after years of use. In their decline there is a kind of honesty, and in their endurance there is something human. Maybe that is why this works as a self-portrait, because in its metal body I see something fragile and enduring at the same time.
In more than fifteen years of creating, I have made maybe three to five self-portraits total. This belongs in that rare group. And because of that, I have decided to raise the price. Maybe it never sells, and that is fine. To me, its worth comes from what it represents: not just a car, but a reflection of myself, unfinished, imperfect, carrying both history and possibility.
I don’t often give myself enough credit for what I’ve accomplished or the skills I have. When I painted this piece, I realized it wasn’t just a car painting. For whatever reason, it felt more like a self-portrait. Almost like pausing to ask myself: If I actually took a moment to see my own strength, unapologetically, what would that look like?
Why this car? A 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS 454 LS6. It is not just any car, it is a muscle car, bold and unapologetic, with an engine that speaks louder than words. There is something about that raw, undeniable power that feels symbolic. Not that I walk around in life revving like a V8, but there is a parallel: the potential, the force under the surface, even if it is not always obvious.
And yet, muscle cars also carry this paradox. They are icons, but not delicate ones. They are a little rough, loud, imperfect. They are built to turn heads, but they are also practical machines of steel, bolts, and gas. In that way, it makes sense as a self-portrait. The painting itself is not finished in the traditional sense. I could have kept pushing it further, cleaning up the edges, tightening the shading, polishing it until it looked “done.” But I chose to stop. That unfinished quality felt truer. Because that is who I am, and really who we all are. Still in motion. Still becoming.
What makes it stranger, maybe, is that I did not paint flesh and blood at all. I chose an object. A car. But cars are a lot like people. They age, they break down, they carry their histories in dents and rust, in the way the engine sounds after years of use. In their decline there is a kind of honesty, and in their endurance there is something human. Maybe that is why this works as a self-portrait, because in its metal body I see something fragile and enduring at the same time.
In more than fifteen years of creating, I have made maybe three to five self-portraits total. This belongs in that rare group. And because of that, I have decided to raise the price. Maybe it never sells, and that is fine. To me, its worth comes from what it represents: not just a car, but a reflection of myself, unfinished, imperfect, carrying both history and possibility.
I don’t often give myself enough credit for what I’ve accomplished or the skills I have. When I painted this piece, I realized it wasn’t just a car painting. For whatever reason, it felt more like a self-portrait. Almost like pausing to ask myself: If I actually took a moment to see my own strength, unapologetically, what would that look like?
Why this car? A 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS 454 LS6. It is not just any car, it is a muscle car, bold and unapologetic, with an engine that speaks louder than words. There is something about that raw, undeniable power that feels symbolic. Not that I walk around in life revving like a V8, but there is a parallel: the potential, the force under the surface, even if it is not always obvious.
And yet, muscle cars also carry this paradox. They are icons, but not delicate ones. They are a little rough, loud, imperfect. They are built to turn heads, but they are also practical machines of steel, bolts, and gas. In that way, it makes sense as a self-portrait. The painting itself is not finished in the traditional sense. I could have kept pushing it further, cleaning up the edges, tightening the shading, polishing it until it looked “done.” But I chose to stop. That unfinished quality felt truer. Because that is who I am, and really who we all are. Still in motion. Still becoming.
What makes it stranger, maybe, is that I did not paint flesh and blood at all. I chose an object. A car. But cars are a lot like people. They age, they break down, they carry their histories in dents and rust, in the way the engine sounds after years of use. In their decline there is a kind of honesty, and in their endurance there is something human. Maybe that is why this works as a self-portrait, because in its metal body I see something fragile and enduring at the same time.
In more than fifteen years of creating, I have made maybe three to five self-portraits total. This belongs in that rare group. And because of that, I have decided to raise the price. Maybe it never sells, and that is fine. To me, its worth comes from what it represents: not just a car, but a reflection of myself, unfinished, imperfect, carrying both history and possibility.