Mr. Rogers

When I decided to paint Mr. Rogers, I kept thinking about Frida Kahlo self-portraits, the symbolism she layered into every detail. That's the approach I wanted to take.

The first thing I needed to capture was the peace he gives me. So I painted flowers: a lily, four poppies, and three hyacinths. That's not random — 143 was Mr. Rogers' number. It means I love you. One letter, four letters, three letters.

In the corner, there's a sun the way kids draw suns, the same sun every child draws in every picture. Not just because he made content for children, but because that's the level he spoke to all of us.

His two goldfish are there too. He would announce he was feeding them because a blind girl once wrote to say she worried about them. So he made sure to say it, every time, so she would know they were okay.

And there's a mistake in the painting, sitting right next to Daniel Tiger on his shoulder. I spent two nights trying to figure out how to fix it. Then I realized Mr. Rogers would say it's brave to let people see your mistakes. That it gives others permission to make their own. That a mistake doesn't mean it isn't beautiful.

So I left it.