My dad is an artist—not professionally, but creatively. He spent his free time sketching and drawing while I was growing up, and my mother did the same. Those early influences made art my favorite subject in school and eventually led me to earn a Bachelor of Fine Arts in New York City. I still remember being mesmerized by my mother’s graceful drawings of horses and women, while my father filled pages with abstract patterns: lines, dots, squares and repeating shapes that drew the eye in. His style was unique and utterly captivating.

About a week ago, standing in the framed-photo hallway, I thought of my dad and his drawings and decided I needed one on the wall in his honor. I called him and asked if he could send a copy of one of his sketches. Instead, he mailed me the original. He called it his “best drawing ever”—an owl he sketched in 1972. It arrived in a rigid “do not bend” envelope, and opening it felt like rediscovering a piece of family history.

My dad named the owl “Owlie,” which I love—naming ceramic animals and little sculptures is something I do too. The illustration is made entirely of repeated shapes and patterns, a hallmark of his work. The sketch uses hexagon-like forms and a soft, layered palette that reads as very seventies, and seeing that style still makes me smile. Although owls are trendy now, this drawing predates the current craze by decades—another reminder that trends often return.

I was so excited to have Owlie in my hands that I couldn’t bring myself to frame the original; it felt too precious to alter. I decided to scan the drawing and return the original to my father. During the scan I took the opportunity to restore the image digitally, returning it to the white background it probably had before being matted on purple paper many years ago. While restoring it I adjusted the small signature and date so they fit naturally with the new layout. The restoration was respectful and minimal—aimed at preserving the character of the hand-drawn piece rather than changing it.

Once printed, the restored image found a new home in a hallway gallery frame. The frame had previously held a less-personal print from our wedding, which was happily displaced. The printed Owlie fits the wall beautifully and feels like the focal point of the space. The transition was simple and cost nothing—no new purchase, just thoughtful repositioning and a little digital work.

When we recently hosted friends, people were naturally drawn to the owl drawing. It sparked conversations about family, creativity, and nostalgia. Telling guests that my father drew it in 1972 added a meaningful layer to the story. Sharing the provenance of the piece made the artwork feel alive in our home rather than an anonymous decorative object.

For me, Owlie represents more than a decorative accent. It’s a connection to childhood memories and the people who encouraged my creative path. I love that the original remains with my dad, taped near his desk the way it has always been, while a restored print brings the image into daily view in my own home. I also sent my father a copy of the digitally restored print so we each have a version—one preserved in its original context, the other restored and displayed.

Framing artwork created by family and friends can be a delicate balance between preserving originals and creating a display that feels right in your own space. In my experience, keeping the original with the artist while displaying a carefully made copy offers a respectful compromise. It lets you enjoy the work daily while honoring its sentimental value and history.

Have you framed artwork made by someone close to you? Did you feel comfortable keeping the original, or did you prefer to display a copy? I’d love to hear how others handle the sentimental and practical aspects of framing family art. For me, Owlie is a small but powerful reminder that the creative spark in our family continues to shape our home and our memories.