My painting practice was reignited by the death of my father in Denmark last year. His absence is constant, as is his presence. A photographer by profession, my father was an artist in the truest sense, guided by a deceptively simple principle: every creative act—a painting, a photograph, an outfit, a piece of writing—required Den Rødt Tomat, the red tomato. It was his shorthand for necessity, vitality, and the moment when a work becomes alive.
This piece is an attempt to honour that idea, and him. I return to painting as a way of thinking, remembering, and conversing across distance and time. The red tomato appears both literally and insistently, hovering between sincerity and satire, devotion and play. In embracing its bluntness, I acknowledge grief’s strange clarity and humour. This work is a small offering: a translation of love into paint, made daily. As remembrance, dialogue, and devotion.