I was adopted at birth and raised in New York. At 45, I learned my mother had already passed. Then at 47, I found my biological father. He was turning 80 in Texas… a Pentecostal End Times preacher… about to marry a woman younger than me. He was bald like me. Blue-eyed like me. And he explained to me that he was cheating on his wife when I was conceived during a one night stand. My pulse was racing. Seeing my own face reflected back from an 80-year-old stranger was surreal. We are, of course, not just our faces; or the stories of our conceptions; but take it from me: to go nearly 50 years without knowing where you come from, then suddenly meet the source of it, can be deeply unsettling. It kicked off two years of relentless self-portraiture. A face I'd always known, MY OWN, was suddenly unfamiliar. I needed to relearn it, re-own it, until I understood it again. These portraits are the record of that reckoning.