Painter Titus Kaphar On 'Exhibiting Forgiveness'
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This is Fresh Air. I'm Tanya Mosley. And my guest today, contemporary painter, sculptor, and installation artist Titus Kaffar, is known for taking classical forms of art and using them to create

and deconstructing them by cutting, crumbling, shredding, stitching, tarring, twisting, and binding to reveal hidden truths that challenge historical narratives. His art provokes, forcing the viewer to confront the erasure of Black Americans from our historical narrative. Take his 2014 painting, Behind the Myth of Benevolence, a portrait of Thomas Jefferson peeling away to reveal Sally Hemings, an enslaved woman that Jefferson owned.

His 2020 Time magazine cover, Anagilous Colors, depicted a mother holding the silhouette of a child, which Gaffar created by cutting into the canvas. The image references George Floyd calling out for his mother during his arrest and final moments.

Kaffar, whose paintings and art installations can be found at some of the world's most prestigious museums, has now taken his vision to the big screen, deconstructing his own life with his directorial debut, a raw and deeply personal film titled Exhibiting Forgiveness. It's about a celebrated painter whose carefully constructed world unravels when his estranged father, a recovering addict seeking redemption, suddenly reappears in his life.

It's a searing exploration of forgiveness, asking us who deserves it, who owes it, and at what cost. Titus, welcome to Fresh Air. Thank you. If I'm not mistaken, this idea for the film was originally a documentary, right? How did it turn into a feature film? The documentary happened because I was going back to Michigan, where I'm from, Kalamazoo.

to visit my grandmother. And when I got to my grandmother's house, my father was sitting on the, on the doorstep and I had my sons with me and my wife was with me and, uh, they'd never seen him before. My kids were probably about seven and five or something like that at that time. And, um, I basically told him I, I didn't really want to talk and that, uh, this wasn't a good time. So I walked up the stairs, walked into the house and to my surprise, uh,

My father followed me in. Now, this is my maternal grandmother. And so as I was starting to get a little frustrated about the situation, my grandmother said, baby, you need to talk to him. And I say this all the time, but when my grandmother tells you to do something, you do it. There's no question. I had a camera on my shoulder at the time because I was going to take a photograph of her. I was going to make a painting and drawing of her. And so kind of on a whim, I said to my father, if you want to talk, let me let me film you.

There's a lot to be accounted for. And I was hoping he would say no, but he said yes. He said be at my house for 15 minutes. And that was the beginning of it. And the truth of the matter is that documentary felt wildly unsatisfying. I showed it publicly in the theater one time and decided I don't want that in the world like that. Why? What was it about it?

A lot of it was just the fact that it felt like it did a really good job of telling me where I was, but not how I got there. It was me as an adult reflecting on these things as an adult. And there was no space for that child, that child's voice in that documentary. And somehow that felt really necessary. So as I let go of the idea of the documentary project, then I moved it in to the idea of doing this as a feature film project.

I realized that it was going to be necessary for me to think differently about my father when I write him as a character. This changed your creative process because you were writing and also painting this story at the same time. This was the first time you had actually done something like this. Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm.

Yeah, I mean, the writing process was very different for me. And so what happened is I'd wake up in the morning about five o'clock and I'd start writing for a couple hours, take my kids to school, and then I would go to the studio and I would start drawing or sketching from what I had written the day before. So I have this app on my phone that allows me to listen to text.

So I was listening to that and remembering all of the things from my childhood experiences and just writing that down. And initially, I was writing this stuff for the purpose of trying to tell my sons a little bit about their father, me, about where I come from and why I don't like to talk about when I was a kid so much.

And for their whole lives, I've always said, well, I'll tell you more when you're older. They would ask. Yeah. They would ask. Yeah. And so my oldest is going off to college now. So I think that's part of what initiated this whole process for me. And the painting aspect of it is so important.

That's so normal. That's my happy place. That's peace, you know. I'm a pretty extroverted person, but that's only because I have all of this time alone in the studio. So that part felt normal, felt right, and it made the writing process easier. Because the writing process was far more emotional than I expected it to be. The process of sitting down and writing made me remember things that I had pushed out of my mind.

for a long time. And I also, as I took it from reality and moved it into the script, it actually became more difficult when I was moving it into a script. Because if you are writing a character, you have to be honest about that character's motivations. You can't just say, this is a bad guy. And as a young man, I would have told you that my father was the villain of my narrative. He was the bad guy.

It wasn't until I sat down to write and I had to ask myself, no, no, that's not enough. Why is he doing what he's doing?

What are the motivations for his actions? What are the broader context of the world? Yes, that's right. You grew up in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Yes, that's right. That was a place of industry, of factories, of businesses. And yes, that's right. By the time you were in high school, all of those businesses, so many of them had been shut down. And so there were no jobs. There were few opportunities. And yes, that's right. Crack cocaine came in right at that same time.

So with context and writing and asking myself the motivation for this character, I gained a compassion, a sympathy for my father that I never had as a young man.

Titus, the story isn't completely autobiographical, but there's truth, so much truth from your life in it. For those who haven't seen the film, can you say what the story is? Terrell is an artist living with his wife, who is also an artist, a musician, and you have a young son. He has a young son. Terrell has a young son. I have two. You know, I think fundamentally this film is...

about one artist's journey towards healing. Of course, there's this question of this father who reenters the situation and whether or not there will be reconciliation or forgiveness between them. And we go with this family on this journey. The film for me is about generational healing, about how do families

Does this generation make sure that our children don't have to carry the same wounds and baggage that we carry? Is there a way for us to leave it here so that they can go on without that burden? And in the film, the artist Terrell and his wife Aisha, they figure this out through their artistic practice itself. The thing that I'm most excited about is

In the film, you see the practice of two artists connected, caring for one another. It's not generally the picture of an artist that you see on film. There is such a vulnerability in this film. I mean, we are seeing black men emote and express and cry. And we rarely see that in film. Actually, we don't see that for men, period, let alone black men.

What have been the discussions with your sons, you writing this with the intent of being able to show them that, hey, this is what my life was before you were here? Yeah. I mean, there's a moment in the film where Jermaine, Terrell's son, runs in the house and starts jumping on the couch. And I love that scene. Daniel, the young kid who played that part, he's extraordinary. And he comes in, he starts jumping on the couch, and he's

I wish I would run into the house and jump on my mother's couch. I wish I would. That would be a very short scene. But Terrell, he walks in and he gently grabs his son by the shoulders and he looks him in his eye and he says, breathe. I want you to breathe with me. Let's take a breath together.

And what that's about is giving the next generation different tools than we had. We weren't told that it was okay that we could cry. That was something that we had to suppress. That was something that it was necessary for us to hold in. We grew up in a kind of rough spot. You didn't want people to see you weak. That meant you were vulnerable. And if you were vulnerable, the opportunity to take you was there. And so...

that became another thing I began to understand. It's like, even these things that feel harsh in the minds of our parents, this was for our protection. And I,

I don't agree with, you know, doing that to your children. I have to believe that love and compassion and kindness and care, those things are the things that we offer to our children and that will bring them to a peace, a place of peace and wholeness.

But at the same time, recognizing that the world that I grew up in, the neighborhood that I grew up in, was fundamentally different from the neighborhood that my children are growing up in. I understand why, why they made the decisions they made, why they did what they did.

It's interesting. You said it was kind of like therapy. You had a conversation with a couple of directors, producers, like just to get advice. You talked to Steven Spielberg, right? I did, yeah. And he said something to you about like putting your life on the page like this in the film. What did he tell you? Yeah, first shout out to Kate Capshaw, his wife. She's a painter. That's how we met. So she came to the studio and we were just geeking out about paint.

And, you know, I had these canvases there that I had been working on for the for the film. And she asked me, she said, so what is what is all this work about? This feels a little different from your other paintings. And so I had a script in my hand and I handed it to her, signed it and said, you know, thanks for coming to the studio. Appreciate you.

And Kate and I have stayed in touch. And so she read the script in about 24, 48 hours and got back to me and said, this is something special. Do you mind if I share it with Stephen? And I said, yeah, no, of course not. That's an insane idea. What are you, nuts? No. I said, of course not.

And she gave it to Stephen and within a couple of days he got back to me and he said, "Do you have something very special here? This is not the kind of film that Hollywood usually treats well. You have to protect yourself. It's going to be difficult and it is not going to fix everything." And he had just done his own family story. With the Fablemans, yeah. Yeah. And so he also told me that I cried every day on set.

And for me, I didn't cry every day, but there were many days. You were on the other side of the project. To be honest with you, Kate and Stephen spoke to me about the project throughout filming. And so on the other side of the project...

I would say, yeah, it's true. Everything has not been fixed. But there definitely have been some revelations, like I said, about understanding the motivations of my father. That has changed. That has definitely changed for me. I want to talk to you a little bit about some of the other reasons why you wanted to make this film. You also made this movie...

Because while you document black life, black people by and large are not the ones consuming or buying your art. And in the short documentary that you did in 2022, Shut Up and Paint, you shared your struggle with the commodification of your art. You mentioned in there how you have family members who, at least at that point, still hadn't seen. Still to this day. Yeah. Yeah.

Has that ever made you question what you do? Well, actually, let me rephrase that. It hasn't made me question what I do. It's made me question where what I do goes. So I don't question painting. I love that. That's like in my heart. It's the thing that I, one of the things that I know that I was made for. But the reality is, as I said in that documentary, where I grew up, the place I grew up does not look like the place where I am now.

And the people who engage with my work often don't come from that world. And let me be clear here. I'm not just talking about race. I'm talking about class as well. I feel blessed to be able to do what I do every day. I mean, I make paintings and people pay me to do that. It's kind of ridiculous. It's like, let's just be honest. Let's just put that out there. It's kind of ridiculous. So I'm not complaining about that.

But what I want is to figure out how I can get more access for folks. And you felt like a movie. You felt like visuals in that way was more democratizing. Yeah. As I said, I think I said in the film, the documentary, film is a much more democratically accessible medium. You don't have to be a rich man to go to a movie, you know?

And nobody makes you feel uncomfortable when you walk into a movie theater. You can just walk in a movie, watch a movie, or, you know, eventually you'll be able to watch it and your home, you know? So that was, that was incredibly important to me because as I went into more spaces, gallery spaces, um,

I recognize how uncomfortable they are. This beautiful, big, white space where you are the only black face in that building. There is some fancy person sitting at the front desk and you don't know whether, do I need to pay to get in? It's like, do I need to talk to them? Do I need to say something? And then you see these paintings on the wall and you're like, these are interesting, but I don't know anything about them. You know, that kind of elitism happens.

that one feels when they're in those spaces doesn't help people connect to the art. I want to play a clip from Shut Up and Paint to delve a little bit more into some of the experiences that you have dealt with as an artist in these spaces.

In this clip that I'm about to play, you're on the phone with an art dealer and you're restating what they're asking you to do, which is essentially to stop being an activist and talking about injustices and just paint. Let's listen.

Okay, what you're trying to explain to me is I'm making paintings about white supremacy and that institutions that facilitate white supremacy are saying, if you just didn't talk so loud about that and not say the things that it's actually about, not say the things that actually motivate you to make what you make, then like, you know, we would accept what you do. And so I'm like, why the f*** would I do that?

At the end of the day, at least I can say, like, I held my principles and they decided based on who I am, not who I pretended to be, that they weren't interested. I'm okay with that. That was my guest, Titus Kaffar, in the 2022 documentary Shut Up and Paint. There's an actual scene in this documentary where you receive notice that one of your paintings sells for $1.2 million. And you're like, wow, wow.

But also how much of that are you going to get? No, I don't get any of that. You don't get any of that? I don't get any of that. No, this is not Europe. Wait, well, so I don't know. I mean, we hear like your paintings sell for all of these exorbitant amounts of money. That's secondary market stuff. That's part of the reason why I allowed that to be in the documentary is because most people don't understand that.

Most folks, you know, they see those numbers and I'm like, oh man, Titus is doing really well and I'm doing all right. But the reality is that secondary market, people take those to auction houses, auction houses, auction those paintings off. And the person who bought it, that's the person who makes the money from it, you know. And none of that goes back to the artists. None of it. Not a dime. So you might have bought that painting for, you know,

The painting that was actually in question, if I'm not mistaken, I think that was originally purchased for $12,000, which was not bad for me at the time. But I think something like five years later, it was auctioned off for $1.2. Let's take a short break. If you're just joining us, my guest is artist and filmmaker Titus Kafar. We're talking about his new movie, Exhibiting Forgiveness. We'll continue our conversation after a short break. I'm Tanya Mosley, and this is Fresh Air.

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This is Fresh Air. I'm Tanya Mosley. And today I'm talking to Titus Kaffar about his directorial debut, a new movie based on his life titled Exhibiting Forgiveness. It's about a painter who is battling with the trauma of his youth, the abandonment of his father, and the final days of his ailing mother. Titus Kaffar is an acclaimed painter known for his innovative and thought-provoking works that challenge traditional historical narratives and representations.

Let's talk a little bit about your techniques that might be a way to be able to visualize for those who are listening to us.

You deconstruct many of your paintings and sculptures using cuts and shreds and stitches and tars. And sometimes you paint over a painting. Other times you might cut out a piece of a painting, as you did with your Time magazine cover in 2020 that depicted a black mother holding a silhouette of a child. And the child is cut out of the image. Right.

You were inspired by the last words of George Floyd, who was calling out to his mother as he was being arrested and ultimately died. Can you take us to how you came to that idea of the painting of a mother essentially holding what feels like a ghost of a child? I was brokenhearted by the words of George Floyd. I was inspired by the words of my mother. And...

When George Floyd died, I felt like giving up, man. I didn't want to talk to people. I was getting phone calls from folks like, you know, come do a public talk here. And like, you know, I said, I'm not doing that. I'm not I'm not doing that because I want me to be like hopeful right now. I am hopeful. And so I called my mom and I was I was just talking to her and and she wasn't doing.

And my mom was just talking about how, you know, she has four sons and all of us have had some kind of run in with police before that could have ended up exactly the same way. That was the thing that inspired me to make that painting. I was thinking about my mother, my mother and her fear of losing her boys. Yeah. That's the George Floyd's words were horrifying. Yeah.

And I don't know that that, for me, could have sent me to the studio to make something, to turn those words into something constructive. That's what that came from, really.

Yeah, because you talk a lot about, I think in your TED Talk, you talk about when we look at a painting, there's so many things within the painting that we can focus on. In this particular painting, the focus is on the mother. She's centered there. She's beautiful in color and fullness. And she's holding a silhouette. Her son is gone. Yeah. The piece is called Analogous Colors, but it's from a series called Contours of Loss.

I was just thinking about how the absence of something can imply what was there. And it makes the absence physical. And that's the thing about absence is we feel it, but it is in fact not physical. What do you do with the pieces that you cut out?

Sometimes they get incorporated into other paintings. Sometimes I have a, I have a roll of figures in my studio, in my storage. Right now, the, the cutout from the film is actually, if you remember, he cuts that figure out and he lays that little boy on the chair. And now that, that,

chair and the cutout are in the exhibition in Beverly Hills. I'm so taken by the choices that you make, like that choice. And

I'm also, I'll be honest, like sometimes uncomfortable and disturbed when you manipulate or when we see it manipulated. The actual end result is a beautiful thing that we can all partake in. But in particular, like in the film, there's this gorgeous portrait of three boys in front of a house and then your character played by Andre Holland.

covers the two boys in white paint. So like the moment he picks up that brush and then puts that white stroke, it's like, ah, like just right. I mean, I know you've heard that before, that it really disturbs people. Do you remember the first time you made that decision to do that to a piece of your work? I do. I do remember the first time. It wasn't conscious.

It wasn't me conceptualizing an idea about a conversation in the context of art history. You know what I mean? I was in the studio working on this painting and I had spent, I was in graduate school at the time. I'd spent months working on this piece and it just was not working. It just was not working.

And there were two characters in the painting and I just like... Actually, no, that first one, there was only one character in the painting. And I just, I was frustrated. And I was like, you know, I'm just going to start over. And so I had painted it in oil. So in order to paint over it, I needed oil primer to go over it. And so I got my primer together and I just started wiping it out. And I put that first brush stroke on there and...

I stopped for a second and saw that something was there. And then I took a rag and I wiped back the area in front of the eyes. And his eyes, the character's eyes kind of peered through in this kind of ghostly way. I didn't know what I was doing, but I just kept going. And I just more strokes and more strokes and more strokes. And then I'd wipe it back.

And then pull it out again. So it was this kind of this push and this pull, as we say in painting, and this appearance and disappearance and trying to find that balance between presence and absence. And I stopped and I looked at it and I was like, I don't know, man, I think this works. And so I just sat with it for a few days before I showed anybody. I had a critique coming up.

And I wasn't going to show anybody, but then I had the critique, so I put it in the critique. And yeah, they didn't love it. They were confused or they thought, what does it mean? What did you do? What in the world are you doing? Yeah. Graduate school was really interesting for me, but it taught me to believe in my own vision, you know?

That moment and moments like those made me realize that a lot of the innovative things, a lot of the most innovative things that I'm going to do are not going to be conscious. I'm going to stumble into them. That became part of your process, that white. And so in the film, that particular scene, there's a story behind it. Yeah, I mean, I think there's a sort of cheat for these kinds of paintings, right?

You could just not really put as much time into painting that character. Let's say I'm painting a portrait of you, right? And I decide halfway through, and this is why I don't make these kinds of decisions, I'm going to whitewash this painting. Well, why would I do as much detail on the eyes if I know I'm just going to paint over it?

But the truth of the matter is I never know what I'm going to do when I start. I'm kind of waiting to hear. And when I hear, I go, okay, I'll go that direction. That's part of the reason why things keep changing. But in that scene, what happens is the gallerist shows up unannounced and wants to celebrate because the artist, Terrell...

His work has just been chosen, his exhibition has been chosen as Critics' Pick in the New York Times, which is ironic because we got Critics' Pick in the New York Times yesterday. Congratulations. Thank you. And he says to her, basically, I don't want to have this conversation right now.

You see, when you're in the studio working, that's like private time. And that's that kind of introspective, quiet space. And somebody coming in at the wrong moment can be completely destructive, can take you off completely. And also, if the person doesn't know your process, then, and this always happens, people are so well-meaning. They come in and they see something and they say something like, oh, my God, it's perfect.

Don't take another stroke. And I actually don't ever want to hear that. Don't come to my studio talking about that's perfect. Please. Because I don't want to spend the time that it takes me to push your voice out of my head in order to get back into the painting and do what the painting is telling me to do. I'm not trying to hear you.

That's what happens in the film. And so he's not having it. He's like, I don't even want to have this conversation right now. And she leaves. And then he wakes up in the middle of the night and comes into his studio. And it hits him what needs to happen, what needs to be done. And that painting is in the film, but that painting is my painting. Yes. And that painting is these three boys, as you said, sitting on this fence.

And I took that photograph when I went back to Michigan. And I was in my old neighborhood, and my nephews and cousins were on this fence. And it reminded me of my three cousins, Jermaine, Jonathan, and Jason. And at home, when I left, my three cousins, they all ended up in prison. And Jermaine died in prison. So when she comes in talking about

Oh, this is perfect. This is perfect. Don't do anything to it. It's like, lady, you have no idea. So that's the challenge of having a practice where you are trying to understand your place in the world better by mining your experiences. It means sort of necessary vulnerability and you put the work into the world.

And at that point you don't have any control over how it's interpreted. And if you believe you do, you're wrong and you should let go of that. And so there's just a gap between the process and the places where these things are shown or seen. And that is part of the reason why the film is what the film is.

Let's take a short break. If you're just joining us, my guest is artist and filmmaker Titus Kaffar. We're talking about his new movie, Exhibiting Forgiveness. We'll continue our conversation after a short break. This is Fresh Air. Anxious.

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This is Fresh Air, and today I'm talking to Titus Kaffar about his directorial debut, a new movie based on his life titled Exhibiting Forgiveness. It's about a painter who is battling with the trauma of his youth, the abandonment of his father, and the final days of his ailing mother. Titus Kaffar is an acclaimed painter known for his innovative and thought-provoking works that challenge traditional historical narratives and representations. There seems to be this

delicate balance that is like extreme admiration and almost like hostility. I don't know the right adjective for it between the artist and the buyer because there is actually a scene in the movie where you're at or the character who portrays a version of you is at a showing. It's at the end of the film and

There's this admiring guy who's bought a bunch of his paintings and says, like, it's right over, it's in my bedroom, you know. And the character that is portraying you is staring at a picture of his deceased mother, a portrait. And that's what you're talking about here. It's like there seems to be this gap and this space between those two things. Yeah.

What is the thing that would close that gap? Because you all both need each other. I mean, I think that scene is one experience. It's not all of them. I think the thing that gives me hope is the positive experiences I have with people who collect my work. I have this friend. His name is Eric Barkley. He became a friend because he started collecting my work. And my paintings exist in his house.

I was giving... I did a screening at Morehouse not too long ago. And his son was in the audience. Eric's son was in the audience. And I realized that my painting has been a witness to his becoming the man that he is. That feels, like, special. And those are the kinds of experiences that I love. I, you know...

We go in the studio and we make the things for the reason that we make them. And as I say, we go out into the world. I had an experience with my first exhibition in New York. It was at Friedman Bend Gallery. And I had made this painting of this woman and her face was kind of blurred. It was based on this 1800s portrait. But her hands, I painted her hands almost hyper real. You could see the veins inside of her hands.

And I got to the exhibition, the opening, it was very much like it was in the film. And there was this woman who was standing in front of that painting. And I walked by her, didn't say anything, and she was there staring intently. Went around, took my pictures, did all this stuff. And then at the end of the exhibition, she was still in front of that painting. I walked up to her and I was like, "You've been in front of this piece for a long time. Do you like this painting?"

And she didn't turn to me. She was still staring at the painting. And she said, you know, my mother died recently. And I feel like I'm losing her face in my memory. But I can't forget her hands. She was a laborer. And, like, her hands were so strong. And I feel like this painting is about my mother. And...

I mean, do you think for one moment I care what I was thinking when I was in the studio making that? Doesn't matter. Like, we connected on a human moment. I made something that, like, felt like it expressed your experience, your lived experience in the world. That's a gift, right?

Let's take a short break. If you're just joining us, my guest is artist and filmmaker Titus Kaffar. We're talking about his new movie, Exhibiting Forgiveness. We'll continue our conversation after a short break. This is Fresh Air.

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This is Fresh Air, and today I'm talking to Titus Kaffar about his directorial debut, a new movie based on his life titled Exhibiting Forgiveness. It's about a painter who is battling with the trauma of his youth, the abandonment of his father, and the final days of his ailing mother. Titus Kaffar is an acclaimed painter known for his innovative and thought-provoking works that challenge traditional historical narratives and representations.

Your father was in your life in the early years of your life before he got deeper into drugs and other things. He was incredibly hard on you. I mean, my father was not nearly as hard on me as his father was on him. And I know that sounds like I'm obfuscating just a little bit, but I'm trying to contextualize. And as I said at the beginning, I now recognize that my father is not a villain.

And I've spent so much time, as I said, as a young man, making him that in my head. But there was also, so there's a really powerful example

scene in the movie where you guys are working really hard. You'd work alongside your dad. He would salvage things, mow lawns, like you guys were doing a lot of labor. And he is riding you faster, harder, go, go, go. There's a point where you're in pain. Folks will see the movie to understand more, but you're physically in pain and he's riding you even through that

And that became a voice in your head for a big part of your life. It's still a voice in my head. And that voice says what? Boy, we ain't got time for this. You need to get to work. Stop playing. Get to work. Push. Ain't nobody going to help you. That voice is like, that's what I'm saying. It's like, yeah, my father pushed me hard. I don't know that I would be here if he didn't. I could not say that out loud before I started working on this project.

We lived on the north side and a lot of folks on the north side didn't have your traditional trash pickup. In our neighborhood, we had burning barrels and everybody would throw their trash in the burning barrels and burn all of it. In retrospect, it just shocks me that that was even legal. But everybody did it. And our job was to go pick up these burning barrels. We take the burning barrels, throw them in the back of the truck and we go to the dumps.

We would do it again. And that's how we made money. Or we would drywall somebody's house or shingle the roof. So from the age of like eight, nine, ten, I was with him. That's what we were doing. And I wasn't playing. I wasn't allowed to play. That was work. It was work. I wish I would pretend like I didn't know how to shovel. I wish I would be like, oh, I'm too tired for this. That wasn't allowed. That wasn't allowed. That wasn't allowed.

And my cousin, my cousin Jonathan, he said it this way. And I don't know where he got this from, but he said, you know, you threw hurdles in front of me and I jumped over them. But I'm not giving you credit for my strong legs. And and it's kind of like that. I do recognize that I have strong legs and I do recognize that I got those strong legs from jumping over those hurdles.

And I do recognize that I probably wouldn't be here without that. And now, as I have a greater context for my father's experience, for all the trauma that he went through and the thing that he was trying to escape, you know, I want to be clear. This is not a documentary. Like I said, I did that. If I couldn't tell everything, it would be a very different story if I told everything.

There's this line in the film, and I think I've heard you talk about it, where you say, you know, there's a moment of almost like reconciliation and forgiveness with your father, saying, we're now in the present. I forgive you for the past, but that doesn't necessarily mean that you're going to be a part of my future. Right.

With this new lens, this new view that you have, understanding the context of his life, does that change that for you? What's your relationship like now? I mean, for certain, I mean, I think, well, two things. One, I think that there is a, we use forgiveness and reconciliation as though they are synonyms. That's true. They're not synonyms. You may find yourself in a situation where you need to forgive somebody who is no longer alive.

And in that case, how can there be a reconciliation? You can't do that. And so I say that because I think it's important that we recognize that forgiveness most of the time has more to do with us than it does to do with them. And so for me, the kind of forgiveness that this film is talking about is the kind of forgiveness that allows you to unburden yourself and say, you know, I'm not carrying this anymore. It's too heavy. I'm done with it. You had a debt. You owe me something. You don't owe me no more.

I'm good. I'm going to let that go. And in saying that there is freedom, there's a weight lifted off of your shoulders. The part that I think we get wrong is I think we assume that that means that you have to continue on the path with that individual. I don't think it's a good idea for us to be telling people to forgive and reconcile different word.

When it means that they are putting themselves back in harm's way. I watch a lot of people in my family, my mother in particular, forgive people again and again and again. And they harmed her again and again and again. I'm not telling people to do that. I'm not. Including yourself with your father. No.

No, it's not a requirement. My father is deep on his journey now, and I am very hopeful that he will make it to his destination and I will be there to celebrate with him. And we are in contact. But I also recognize that I needed some space from that. And so Christian A. Smith says, forgiveness requires the renegotiation of boundaries. And

I don't think we think about it like that. If you grew up in the church like I grew up in the church, you know, how many times you forgive? Seven times seventy, right? You smack me, I turn the other cheek. Hit me again. What? I understand that conceptually, but I think that can do damage to the psyche. Titus Kaffar, thank you so much. Thank you. We spoke with painter Titus Kaffar about his directorial debut, a new movie based on his life, titled Exhibiting Forgiveness.

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