My father Philip Preston was a staff photographer for the Boston Globe. He was a gifted photographer who liked seeing his pictures in the paper and then he forgot about them. When he died suddenly at the age of 53 in 1977 all he left was a random assortment of prints. He archived nothing.
I became obsessed with painting from these photographs. I knew my father was talented but immersing myself in these pictures gave me a whole new appreciation of his work. The act of adding color was a process of discovery. I spent many hours staring at his photos trying to figure out what I was looking at. The detail, which was not important to him for his newspaper work, became hugely important to me. The process of creating these oil paintings was deeply emotional for me. I got to collaborate with my long lost father. Sharing his talent is an honor.