Liam.

When his mother stopped opening the restaurant, Liam drove six hours, arrived at night, opened the windows and made soup. He stayed four months. He learned that caring is a physical act: you don't say "I'm worried," you say "I brought you soup." He's visited her once a month ever since, and he uses the drive to think about what he doesn't know how to say to her out loud. A print doesn't tell you all of this; it frames it. What you see hanging up is the calm face of someone who carries what's his without fuss.

The portrait is frontal and background-free: framed, it doesn't need anything else around it. All the color lives in the sweater — the fuchsia and orange skulls, the turquoise neckline — and the bear, black, sits still, looking at you. A framed print is one of the few things you buy to leave in its place for years, and that suits Liam: he's the kind who keeps what matters. The frame, sizes and finish are on the purchase page; here I'm telling you who the bear is that you're about to hang.