In memory

Kaya — a memorial pet portrait, made from the photographs that stayed

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Kaya, a memorial portrait in the oil tradition, made from old photographs
Kaya, a memorial portrait in the oil tradition, made from old photographs

Kaya was the founder's first dog. She has been gone more than fifteen years.

The only photographs left of her are small and blurred, taken on an old phone in a garden that is not there anymore. For a long time that felt like all there was — not because the pictures were lost, but because they had stopped being able to show her. A photograph that has degraded past the point of holding a face is a strange kind of absence. It is still there. It just no longer helps.

Made from three of them

Her portrait was built from three of those pictures. Not one enlarged, which would only have enlarged the blur: three, read together, each supplying what the others had lost — the set of the ears from one, the weight of the head from another, the particular way she held herself from the third.

That is the whole method, and it is why this house says any photograph is enough. The question is never whether a single picture is sharp. It is whether what is left, taken together, still describes an animal. It almost always does.

Kaya, a memorial portrait in the oil tradition, made from old photographs
Kaya · in memoriam

Why the house does this at all

Every other entry in this ledger describes a choice between finished portraits — the studies that argued, the archetype that won, the reasons one frame suited a face better than another. There was no argument here. There was one question, which was whether it was possible at all, and the answer turned out to be yes.

Seeing her again, properly, is the reason this house paints from memory. Nobody should have to let the picture fade just because the photograph did.

The specification

Sitter
Kaya
Entered as
The house memorial piece · unnumbered
Made from
Three photographs, fifteen years old
Medium
Giclée on 400gsm museum canvas, stretched by hand

The close

She hangs at the atelier. The ledger keeps her too.

Some are painted from memory. If there is one you have been meaning to ask about, there is no rush and no wrong photograph.

In memory

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