acrylic on hardboard
My son hates getting his hair cut. Even to this day I have to trick him into the car, usually mentioning someplace he wants to go, leaving out where our first stop would be (to get a haircut). He refers to it as, “The dreaded left.” This is because we turn left into the parking lot. The only thing he hates more is going to my father’s barber. This is in a traditional barber shop in an older part of town. This barber has cut three generations of my families hair. You won’t find a television blasting sports news there, and instead of waiting minutes, its usually an hour or longer to get the full barber experience. This is a painting of my son’s first traditional barbershop experience. Years later, his expression is still the same. Maybe one day I’ll paint his younger brother’s first time there, he cried the entire time his hair was being cut.