I consider myself an artist, and I’m inspired by other artists. By people who make stuff. One of my greatest inspirations is my grandfather who was an artist throughout his life and made stuff until, like, literally the last week he spent on planet Earth. You know, at 94 years old, he was still painting. Gramps left over 100 sketchbooks and 2,500 paintings. And in talking with my dad who’s been trying to sift through it all I didn’t realize just how much stuff I hadn’t seen before. “Do you have the — his story of his life? Have you seen that?” No. No. “It’s Gramps’s memory book. Did I give that to you?” So apparently, Gramps kept a log of random memories in a sketchbook. Hundreds of pages of writing and illustrations. He’ll have a memory about a geography test he took in seventh grade, butted up against a memory of surviving a plane crash, which 15 pages later he’ll revisit to describe in more detail. He talks about seeing the original “Frankenstein” with his father in 1931 and his experiences in World War II, but throughout there are accounts of the stuff he was making. This is a really small drawing, but it grabbed my attention. Apparently, he bought this Chevy for 50 bucks and it didn’t come with windows. And so instead, as a joke, he fashioned his own. “It was the time of the Chicago gangsters and in the empty window slots, I made cardboard cut-outs of mobsters.” Wait, empty window slots? So it was just open? “Yeah.” No glass? “Yeah, but you could roll, but nothing would roll up. So he made these things that would be underneath, but you’d roll them up, and that’s what you’d see.” [Laughter] No way! My grandfather was a man who got a crazy idea in his head and just ran with it. And this is something I want to be more like. When I was going through the memory book, I came across a couple of memories of Gramps creating something that actually involved my dad, and I wanted to see whether or not he remembered these same events. “He always talked about when he was little at the dentist, he was looking at a magazine that had a bicycle with wings on it. And I think the front of the bicycle, the wheel was up in the air. I don’t know what, but it sparked his imagination and he had mentioned a few times. Anyway, he built these things and they were cardboard two or three ply that he had taped together, and then he put some little propellers from his model airplanes. We went to Audubon Park to ride it. But I guess, you know, I knew I wasn’t going to fly, but I sort of had the impression that the front wheel would come up. You know, I just thought it would be an experience other than just riding around with these wings on. And of course, nothing happened and I was really disappointed.” There were so many pages of memories. So many stories I hadn’t heard. And I find myself reflecting on this moment on the phone talking to my dad about his dad, connected by something that was made specifically for us. “Yeah. Well, the thing that was really neat in his last few years, he would just pull these off the shelf and, like, live his life again. And then he’d stop when he saw an image, and he would paint it. You know?” [MUSIC PLAYING] “Look on page 42 …” Wow, yeah … I see it. How old is he at that point? “… look at this one. This is good. Page 38 …” So incredible. “36. Page 36 … Oh, that’s 1914 … ” [Laughter] The stuff my grandfather made seemed to help him interpret and chronicle the journey of his life. I’d like to make stuff like that too, and this seems like a decent place to start. Thanks, Dad. “O.K.” Have a good weekend. “O.K. Same to you.” All right. See you. “Bye bye.”