I miss my dad’s Valentine’s Day cards.
It didn’t matter what it said, I just miss his signature, “Love, Dad”.
He passed away several years ago.
Soon after he passed, around Valentine’s Day, I read this blog post by my friend, Gwenn Seemel, who is a portrait artist. In her blog post, “Signature Style”, she wrote,
“I’ve never wanted to sign the fronts of my paintings….My decision originates on a very visceral level—the act feels like a desecration!—but there’s a logic to it too: signing art seems redundant to me. Shouldn’t the work itself represent the artist better than her-his name?”
No signature????? That’s all I remember about my dad’s cards!
When looking at a piece of art, I look first at the work, and second at the signature. I may recognize the piece, but the signature let’s me know it is from the artist.
I get some sense of satisfaction.
I know it’s from them.