Chapter II · Thanksgiving · 77 days

The turkey is not the point.

From the carving of the bird to the backyard game.

The turkey coming through the door. The touch-football game on the lawn before dinner. Grace, with every chair full. We paint the aunts and the cousins and the one who always carves, and we keep every face exactly as you sent it.

The Long Table

30 traditions

The one rule

The face stays. Everything else is repainted.

We are a family of artists, and the holiday art we kept being sent was one look with the colours swapped: orange in October, red in December. That is a costume, not a tradition. So each room here has its own painters behind it — Currier & Ives and Nast, the Brandywine and Hudson River schools, Rackham, Whistler, Bruegel in the snow and the magazine covers of the 1940s — and none of the four would recognise the others.

What we keep is you. The faces, the coats, the dog and the front of your house are held exactly as you sent them, and a judge scores every painting for likeness before you see it. We paint children here, and only here: a parent or guardian signs for every photograph with a child in it, the darker Halloween shelf is closed to them, and every painting with a child is looked at twice before it is shown and once more, by a person, before it is printed.

Most of the AI work doesn’t resonate with us either. We spent months on these rooms so that at least one of them resonates with you.

Next chapterChristmasLight the Window