When I paint someone, I have to find the entry point. The empathy. I have never played hockey. And since my fifth grade Valentine’s skating party at Noonan’s Park (when the whip was cracked and I broke my arm) I haven’t spent a lot of time on the ice. But this is her love, and that’s how she wanted her portrait. 

They are a hockey family for sure. Donned in red and black from rink to bench, their passion would seemingly melt such a block. They gather in “sometimes victory” and “always attempt.” In pure love, for the sport, sure, but mostly I think, for each other. And this is where I find my way in. This is where my hands understand my heart, and I paint. 

As she skates to team with all of her friends, swirling on ice to build a connection to glide for years, I paint. Wanting to be a part of that. Wanting to stay connected. Cheering from another country, no skates in sight, I am part of a hockey family too. 

Even behind this gated face, and this wrinkled jersey, I know this number twelve. I celebrate this Charly! And we all glide together.

#12