autumn-man-memory

I met Peter on a winter day at Empire Beach, along the wind-whipped shoreline of Lake Michigan. He approached me as if it were the most natural thing in the world—which made sense, given his work in public media in Traverse City. His warmth and openness felt out of place in the frigid air, but they immediately disarmed me. What followed was a brief but wondrous conversation that left a lasting impression, long after the cold had numbed our fingers.

As I reminisced about that day, I couldn’t help but think of how the essence of the Autumn Man inspired my reflections.

Peter spoke with vivid enthusiasm about his travels across the U.S., describing the hidden natural spots he had discovered. He seemed genuinely happy recalling how he’d come upon those places—by striking up conversations with locals wherever he went. That made sense, considering how easily he had connected with me. His words stirred happy memories of my own: places I’d been, trails I’d walked, colors I’d studied. It was different from my usual way of remembering, which often includes both happy and sad moments. Somehow, this meeting became transformative for me. It made me focus more on joyful memories from my past.

For a few moments, we were just two strangers escaping the cold through shared recollections, standing in the middle of nowhere and yet feeling oddly connected. But our meeting was fleeting, like two ships acknowledging each other in passing. Peter moved on to a warmer climate shortly afterward—but not before posting a snapshot of his rowing on North Bar Lake to Instagram. That image stayed with me, sparking the first version of what would become this painting. The painting quickly began to diverge from the original post. It became more colorful as seen above.

In that early version, I liked the background—clouds moving across the sky and the colorful autumn woods—but the figure lacked presence. When I showed the piece to ChatGPT during a moment of reflection, it suggested that while the background was strong, the figure appeared flat.

So I returned to the canvas, not to correct it, but to evolve it. In this new version, I pushed the image further away from the original photo reference. Peter has acquired more depth, become even more colorful, and oddly, transformed into an older man.

Just to be clear: I used ChatGPT solely as a reflective tool in my process, not to produce or alter the image itself. It was more like having a conversation partner who could offer critique.

For me, the Autumn Man is more than just a seasonal figure. He’s a symbol of transition—of moments between what was and what comes next. I’m grateful to have met Peter. He changed the way I feel about my past—made it happier. I never saw him again, but I still look at his posts on Instagram. He remains the same—cheerfully talking to strangers on his nature hikes.

Whether this version is final, I don’t yet know. But it carries more of what I remember from that day on the beach: the happy man talking to me, the warmth of shared words in the middle of a frozen landscape. The evanescence of a connection formed—and then gone.