M. Pia De Girolamo

Gray Seashore by M. Pia De Girolamo 2012 © Acrylic on Canvas 36" x 36"

I do most of my work in the solitude of my studio. It is quiet; I don’t play music (except once in a great while). I do hear bird sounds and the wind or rain and I have large windows that look out onto some backyard woods. I am not a complete recluse, however; I very much enjoy the company of friends. They feed my soul and I hope I feed theirs.

Just a couple of days ago I caught up with an artist friend who I had not seen for many months and had not even talked to by phone or email, which was unusual. I knew she must have had a lot going on. She was on my “to call” list and I finally was able to cross that item off.  I found out that she had been deeply involved with helping her daughter who was anticipating the birth of a child. There had been some frightening moments but all was eventually resolved happily just a week or so ago.

My friend is a few years older than I am and has gone through some soul-trying times that have shaped her. I find her perspective invaluable. It is obvious that she has done the hard work of self-examination because when she speaks I know what she says sounds right and true. She is a joyful person and I’d call her an “enlightened” one as well. 

We speak about family, art, our former careers and our present calling. We’ll look at each other’s work, talk about the nitty gritty of technique, and swap info about the best places to look for deals on supplies. We examine artists whose work inspires us and investigate venues where we might show. Together, we weave a complex fabric of past, present and future that we can wrap around ourselves like a blanket as we go forward with our lives and work.

Friends do not just show up at one’s door announced these days. It takes a conscious effort to keep up with them. I have found that the throw away line “we’ll have to get together soon” must be accompanied by an immediate setting of a date, otherwise, the intended meeting never materializes. We’ve all got work to do, but good friends make our lives richer and I’m convinced that they make our work better too.

My friend, artist Tom Hlas has written 2 blog posts recently at http://tomhlas.com/blog/ that have got me thinking about the issue of originality in art. In his posts “Too Much Art” and “The Bigger Picture” he expresses the worry that his work (beautiful, by the way) may look too similar to that of another artist, and that looking at other artists’ work may be too influential on his own.  

Recalling Precious Moments w You by Tom Hlas © 2009 Acrylic on canvas 18" X 18"

We know that originality is a concern for even the most famous artists since they have left us many pronouncements on the subject.  For example, Picasso is quoted as saying  “…since of necessity my vision is quite different from that of the next man, my painting will interpret things in an entirely different manner even though it makes use of the same elements.”

Arshile Gorky deliberately imitated Picasso’s still lifes in order to understand the master’s work. "Gorky’s rejection of originality as a goal…also deeply affected [his good friend] de Kooning. "Aha, so you have ideas of your own", Gorky told de Kooning  when he first looked at his work. "Somehow," said de Kooning, "that didn’t seem so good." The critic, Harold Rosenberg notes that this exchange transformed de Kooning’s approach to painting and prompted the realization that “Even inventing a thing that had already been invented was an act of creation." (from de Kooning, An American Master, by Stevens and Swan, p. 103) 

There was a time when the ability to make art that looked like someone else’s was the paramount goal. It amazed me to find out that ancient Egyptian art remained essentially the same for about 5000 years! Imagine the poor ancient Egyptian artist who dared to draw someone’s full face; surely he was doomed to “swimming with the crocodiles”! Byzantine icon painters created highly stylized figures in a traditional manner. The apprentices in the ateliers of the great Renaissance painters had to learn to paint like their masters-so they could help finish their massive works. Even when the revolutionizing modernists came to the fore in the 20^th century, representational art was declared passé and many felt an artist had to paint abstractly in order to be taken seriously.

Sunflower by M. Pia De Girolamo © 2012 Monotype on paper 30" x 22"

Our society on the other hand imposes its own tyranny,ferociously prizing that which appears original, different and new--every few months, it seems.  Got the latest iPhone/iPhone app anyone? Again, an artist counters with a wise observation to keep things in perspective. Robert Rauschenberg reminds us that “Having to be different is the same trap as having to be the same.”  

(Robert Genn’s “The Painter’s Keys” http://quote.robertgenn.com/auth_search.php?authid=75  was the source of the quotes by Picasso and Rauschenberg).

Through the Veil by M. Pia De Girolamo © 2012 Acrylic on Canvas 36" x 36"

An artist, Joyce Wycoff, who I follow on Twitter and Facebook wrote a blog post http://joycewycoff.blogspot.com/2012/01/artist-statements-evaluation.html about creating a strong artist statement. We corresponded about ways to craft a good one and she suggested a helpful (and fun) exercise which consisted of writing down at least 15 sentences describing "why I am an artist".

I made my list and recently while  revisiting it, I noticed certain words and phrases which jumped off the page and I highlighted them. Here they are:

Energized

Euphoric

Connected

Delight

Powerful

Sharing

Interacting

Extraordinary

Enriched

Insight

Heightened awareness

Precious gift

Accepting

Bursting to come out

I'm sure the artists among you will claim all or some of these powerful words but I think that many apply to the experience of the viewers of art as well. The viewer, when really engaged with the art, will feel the same things as the artist who created it.

"Pompeii" by M. Pia De Girolamo © 2012. From sketchbook. 

Acrylic paint, Mixed Media, 9" x 12"

When I was a kid, there were few things I liked better than buying a new sketchpad. I’d feel the paper, testing the weight and texture between my fingers. It had to be not too thin, not too thick, not too smooth, not too rough-as in the Goldilocks story, it had to be “just right”.  I relished seeing the clean white pages and couldn’t wait to mark them up with the drawing pencil or pen and ink.

Nowadays, I like to be able to use a variety of media like watercolor, acrylic, and glues in my sketchpads. I can also be pretty strenuous in making marks on the paper with pencil, pen or water-soluble wax crayon  (Caran D’Ache crayons are wonderful-pricey but worth it). The paper has to withstand the handling without tearing and with minimal warping, if I use liquid media. 

After testing a bunch, over the years I’ve hit on 2 sketchpad brands that I use consistently. The first is Canson’s Mix Media (yes, it says Mix Media and not Mixed Media, maybe it’s a translational thing because I think they’re French) in 9” x 12” size. The second is Aquabee‘s Super Deluxe pad in 9” x 6” size, which is great to fit in a pocketbook or if I’m traveling and bringing only a small bag. Both are designed for wet and dry media. The larger Canson pad has perforations so you can easily rip out a nice drawing and give it to someone as a gift! Both papers are acid free and so should not yellow over time. 

"Ship" by M. Pia De Girolamo © 2012. From sketchbook.

Caran D'Ache water soluble crayons. 6" x 9".

It’s fun to experiment with different surfaces but it makes life easier when you have  “go-to” items that you can reach for time and again and be assured of consistent results. 

Door to the Desert by M. Pia De Girolamo 2012©

Acrylic on Canvas 36' x 36'

In my last blog post I mentioned starting a group of paintings and monotypes that “talk to each other” and mesh texture, graphics, color, form and space. 

Windows by M. Pia De Girolamo 2012©

Monotype 30' x 22'

I’ve been working with earth tones, reds/oranges and complementary blues. The Akua soy-based inks I use for the monotypes layer beautifully like glazes in painting and really glow. I am using a variety of techniques in the paintings including some glazing, sgraffitto, addition of texture mediums and collage.

You can see the first results here http://www.piadegirolamo.com/gallery/78721/New%20Work.

Door and Boat (working title) by M. Pia De Girolamo © 2012.

36" x 36" Acrylic and found objects on canvas. 

I’ve been making a lot of monoprints lately, having set up a space in my basement and also working at Main Line Art Center on the big etching or roller press.  However I am also committed to getting into the studio to paint. My goal is to make a group of prints and paintings that “talk to each other” as it were.  What they’ll be talking about concerns meshing texture, graphics, color, form and space.  Much to my delight, "Door and Boat" emerged yesterday on canvas! In case you were wondering, "door" is piece of canvas and "boat" an incised cardboard packing material.

I’ll keep you posted on new work in this evolving group of paintings and prints….

Labyrinth at St. Thomas Church, Whitemarsh, PA

For reasons now forgotten, a few weeks ago I was looking up labyrinths on the internet and found to my surprise there was a large one installed practically “in my own backyard”, on the grounds of St. Thomas’ Church in Whitemarsh, PA.  It is a replica of a labyrinth that is inlaid in the floor of Chartres Cathedral in France. It is speculated that the medieval labyrinth may have provided a path for prayerful walking but from what I gather, this is not conclusive. Today, however, walking a labyrinth is put forth as a meditative exercise. You follow the same path into the center as it twists and turns and follow the same path out. There are no dead ends or branches. The process is said to quiet the mind.

Today, feeling cooped up, a little irritable, and in need of a walk despite the gloomy, drizzly day, I took myself over to St. Thomas’ and located the labyrinth on the grounds.  Walking at a regular pace, I made my way in.  I found I was just the slightest bit off balance when it came to the switch-back turns, which made me focus on the walk. I think that because of that focus my head was cleared of the cobwebs I had brought in with me. I became aware of the reflections of surrounding trees in the puddles on the ground, the abstract patterns made by horse chestnuts and oak leaves strewn across the path, and the sounds of birds and distant traffic. 

I got home and began to get to work in the studio. I made a small collage but I spent most of the time preparing for new projects by writing an art supply shopping list, collecting materials I already had, and building stretcher frames.  Do I think the labyrinth walk helped me focus on getting that preparatory phase going?  Very possibly. Was it enjoyable and calming and did it provide a little exercise, balance training, and fresh air? Definitely. Will I do it again? Yes, I will.

The Backyard Monotype by M. Pia De Girolamo ©2012

If you’ve seen my posts on my Facebook artist page you’ll know I’ve recently been working on monotypes. A few years ago I learned printmaking techniques from instructor Christine Stoughton at the Main Line Art Center, Haverford, PA.  Being a painter, I gravitated toward the monotype or monoprint as it is also sometimes called, because it combined what is essentially painting with printmaking technique and aesthetic.

Several years ago before I learned the technique, I bought a large monotype and in talking to the gallery owner about how it was made I had trouble visualizing the process.  It was a print but it was marked "1/1" meaning there was only one and it was not part of an edition (a limited run of multiple prints made using a wood- or linocut block or etching plate.) But if that was the case, how was it a print and not a painting? The image had not been incised but rather painted on a plexiglass plate, applied to paper and run through a hand-cranked roller press. 

If I once had trouble picturing the process, you might too so I thought I’d walk you through and show some photographs of the basic steps.  Because I am working in my home studio and do not own a manual printing press I am using a burnishing tool (the back of a flat wooden spoon).   If you have an Art Center nearby you can often pay a small fee for open studio time using their full-size press.  

Mixing the inks

Using Akua (non-toxic, soy-based) inks from Rostow and Jung, I use a palette knife, paintbrush and/or roller to apply the ink to a plexiglass plate (buy at art supply store or ask Home Depot to cut to size). I have found that mixing a little release agent into the paint helps the inks transfer more easily when home printing. I also use blending agent when brushing on paint to blend strokes.

Applying the ink

Inked plate with scraped off negative spaces

I may scrape off ink in areas to allow the white of the paper to show through and be part of the composition.  Using other scraping “tools” like sponges, brushes, pieces of netting, etc. will create textured effects.

A key point to remember is that what you paint on the plate will be reversed when you print! Even when working in a very abstract and spontaneous way there may be a consistent pattern in which you apply your paint that is satisfying to you. If you don’t take this into account, you will be surprised, pleasantly or unpleasantly as the case may be, by the resulting composition of your piece. The print-making process can thus reveal an aspect of your practice previously unknown to you.

Plate inkside down on paper

 Flipped inked plate and paper

After painting and scraping, I very carefully place the plate ink side down on special printing paper (I got a good deal from Utrecht; BFK Rives and Arches make excellent papers), press down, then carefully flip over the plate and paper together.

With strong downward pressure, I begin to burnish the back of the paper with the flat of the spoon and sometimes use a pin press (like a very heavy rolling pin) to get maximal transference of ink to paper. I lift up the corners to peek and rub some more until satisfied with the result.  I can repeat the process by re-inking the same other plates and layering on color if I choose, or stop there.  If there is enough ink on the plate I might be able to eke out one more print called a “ghost”, due to its delicate, ephemeral look. 

Plate with re-inked areas at the bottom

Unforeseen results occur as the ink gets “squished” onto the paper. It takes time and practice to be able to control the transfer of ink. The print can turn out too light if there’s not enough ink, or “blobby” in areas of too much ink. Here I have added more ink to the plate and then I re-printed. I did this several times with this print. The finished monotype is at the start of the blog post. It helps to start with easy compositions and smaller papers before attempting more complex subjects and larger sizes.

A great printmaking resource: Rostow and Jungs website http://www.waterbasedinks.com/

One of my Christmas presents this year was a Japanese fountain pen. You can see it in the photo above. There are two cranes on it. The word for crane in Japanese is “tsuru”-don’t ask me how I remember this. I learned the word sometime in childhood and it got stuck in the folds of my brain somewhere. I think it’s because it’s fun to say. There is also the iconic Mt. Fuji, and at the bottom of the pen, a glistening blue stream, hinting perhaps at the flow of writing that is to issue forth from the golden nib.

It is a “fine writing instrument”, a Lexus of pens so to speak. I took it out for a test drive on some really nice thick paper in one of those leather-bound notebooks and indeed it worked beautifully. Well-balanced, it is a nice size for my hand. The ink flows easily; the line is a little thicker than I would have chosen for myself but it is “juicy” and that’s fun too.

Just before the holidays I was browsing in a used bookstore and found a copy of Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way, which is a creativity jump-starter and aid for blocked artists.  I had skimmed it a couple of years ago and found it interesting but never felt the need to do any of the exercises.  Not that I was blocked creatively now, but just before and after Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s getting into the studio can get a little tricky so I figured I’d pick and choose and try some of the exercises. Since I like writing and find it also helps me clarify direction in the studio, I decided to start Cameron’s recommended  “morning pages”. Every morning you pour forth three pages about anything and everything, being as honest as possible with all your hopes, fears, plans, ideas etc.

The morning pages function as a sort of meditation or even prayer, if you will.  You are supposed to write these pages out in long hand as opposed to on the computer. My guess is it's because it mimics that act of mark-making in painting, and therefore is probably connected to firing up the area of the brain that executes that task.

Initially, I put the “The Japanese Pen” aside as it was the kind of pen one reserves for greeting cards or lovely leather-bound notebooks and not for writing on the cheapo paper I was calligraphically regurgitating onto every morning. Moreover, the notebook I was using was one of my sons’ old school notebooks from last year that still had lots of paper in it. Cameron says to go out and treat yourself to a beautiful notebook for this purpose but I figured it was better to use what was at hand rather than procrastinate ‘til I went out to hunt for a special one.

Then I realized that not using the pen was like that tendency not to use “the good dishes”, reserving them for the company that comes every blue moon. We used our “good dishes” every day so why shouldn’t I use “the good pen”?!  So I did and am now happily “wasting ink” every morning. I notice my hand and arm aren’t getting writer's cramp and the ideas are flowing. I may not have followed Julia’s advice to get a special notebook but at least I am using a special pen!!

Study for a Commission, Brushes program on iPad

It’s January 6, so happy Epiphany to you!  In Italy, on the eve of the Epiphany, La Befana, a magical old lady, brings gifts to the children in commemoration of the gifts of the Magi to the Christ child in the stable.

I love the word, “epiphany” as in “I’ve had an epiphany!” used to describe an “aha!” moment.  From the Greek word meaning “to reveal”, an epiphany is, in the words of Wikipedia, “the result of significant labor on the part of the discoverer …so surprising because one cannot predict when one’s labor will bear fruit”.  When epiphanies are discussed, the “significant labor” part is often forgotten! 

It’s interesting to contrast the underlying meaning of the Epiphany with the New Year’s holiday. At New Year’s we are encouraged to “make resolutions” as if we could will these goals into being by our own conscious ferocious effort alone. Epiphany instead seems to imply an act of receptivity but not in a passive way; the hard work has got to come first and you have to have faith that the “aha” moment will arrive when it’s good and ready and not necessarily when you want it to. 

It is like this in the studio.  How many times does a painting “problem” arise and only to be resolved when you “play” with it and see what happens as opposed to imposing a solution. Sometimes it’s months or years later that the solution arrives.

In wishing you Happy New Year I also wish you many great epiphanies for 2012!

Where are You? by M. Pia De Girolamo, Oil stick on paper, 2008©

Recently I had a bit of a tussle with procrastination around some heavy duty “administrative stuff”. In this case, it fell primarily to me to put a childhood family second home on the market, while living far away. I dreaded the work that had to be done: finding and interviewing realtors, paperwork etc.  It was anxiety-provoking on many levels and I kept putting it off. The longer I put it off of course, the more it ate at me. I found I was starting to avoid other things because of it, even getting into the studio to paint. If you look at the image above, that about sums up visually how I felt!

Since I just couldn’t seem to make myself just do the thing, I started to think of strategies or tricks to get myself motivated. I came up with a few that eventually helped. So the house is now on the market (who knows if it will sell—but that’s another story!!)

These strategies worked for me:

Take on the task first thing in the morning.  Set the intention up mentally the  night before. I happen to be a morning person; my energy is highest then.

Set up a reward for when you're finished. For me, it was to read a book for fun in the middle of the day. Because I usually save my reading for when all is done and I’m about to go to bed, this to me was extravagant.  This may sound like a pretty lame reward to you but you’re free to pick whatever you want!

If there are multiple unpleasant things to do (and there always are) prioritize and recognize that you may not be able to accomplish them all at once, or may not want to. For me, since there is only one “first thing in the morning”, I schedule the unpleasant tasks sequentially over a number of mornings.  Again, set the intention at night or write it down.

Recognize that the worst unpleasant task may be the one that's holding you back from tackling the rest.  Go for that one and the dam may break, allowing you to tackle the others more easily. 

Ask for help, if the task is amenable to it.  In the case of putting the house on the market, my sisters (even though they too live far away) were instrumental in getting some of the key tasks done.

If you have any strategies that work for you please share!

Merritt Parkway by Willem De Kooning, 1959

Sometimes as I am talking to someone about an experience, I have a sudden revelation about it.  It doesn't come before or after but just as the words are coming out of my mouth.  It is as if the act of dialogue crystallizes thoughts that have been trying to form.

This  happened recently.  I was telling an artist friend about my recent visit to the De Kooning exhibit at the MoMA. I told her how extensive it was, taking up the whole 6th floor of the museum and incorporating all the different iterations of his life's work.  As I was saying this I realized that my walk through the exhibit was like a walk "through" De Kooning in a way.  I just got the sense that he had revealed so much of himself in these paintings and that I was getting to know him personally. I remembered that while walking through the exhibit I had the feeling he was present, right around the corner somewhere.  As I write this I recall that in the book "Art without Borders", Ben-Ami Scharfstein says that a work of art is "...the ghost of the person yearning to be known by means of the material it inhabits" and "...we would ask of the work of art, not 'what is that?' but 'who is that?' ".

The paintings change as De Kooning's circumstances and surroundings changed.  Earlier, more detailed  paintings reflect the freneticism and maybe anxiety of city life; later paintings with larger swaths of color and juicy paint come out of his time on Long Island in proximity to sea and sky.  I could identify with this characteristic of the painter to process and interpret his surroundings in his paintings.  I think they resonate so powerfully for me because though abstract, they are still grounded in his experience of the world.

His final work is very minimalist and has been seen as a decline in his abilities matching the deterioration of his cognitive abilities due to Alzheimer's disease.  Rather, the MoMA exhibit shows that these works are important in their own right. I did not appreciate them as much, when I saw only printed images, but seeing these very large airy works ‘in person’ is another matter. Beautifully balancing lines and space, they simply breathe. It is moving to stand in those large rooms among these simple lyrical paintings and see a testament to creativity infusing life until the very end.

Check out MoMA's exhibition website at http://www.moma.org/interactives/exhibitions/2011/dekooning/  and/or go see the exhibition at MoMA up through January 9.

Apollo's Chariot by Mish-el Benjamin©, Oil, pencil and wax on paper.

Inner Sanctum by Mish-el Benjamin©, Acrylic on Canvas

Recently, I attended Mish-el Benjamin’s artist reception for her show The Daily Ritual at the Pagus Gallery Project Space in Norristown, PA. The title refers to her daily studio practice but in her paintings I see references to the ritual imagery of various faiths, past and present.  In one affecting work, Coming off the Cross, a human figure is being taken down a ladder, echoing the theme of Christ’s deposition from the cross in Christian art while possibly pointing to a more personal or universal meaning. Another, Apollo’s Chariot, contains an arc extending over two inverted triangles, calling to mind the path of the Greek sun god’s chariot.  In Inner Sanctum, there is a door suggested in the midst of a white form, the entrance perhaps to a private place of artistic or spiritual recollection. 

The imagery of art historical spiritual tradition and personal spiritual symbolism are melded in Mish-el’s paintings, which are executed with brushy strokes in areas of opaque and transparent layers in which the artist’s hand is clearly evident. For me, the show is a meditation on our longing for the unknowable. 

In the first floor gallery, two artists, Nakima Ollin and Emily Erb share the space in a show entitled Earthly Delights. Nakima uses egg tempera on panel to delicately render images of the complicated structure of industrial sites.  There is something in them that recalls the atmospheric quality of Dutch landscape painting but the finely realized complex tangle of tubes and beams approaches abstraction.  Emily works with dye on silk.  Her wall hangings entitled The Garden of Earthly Delights are rich with vivid imagery that deliberately recalls the painting by 15^th century master Hieronymus Bosch. One group of framed silk panels is based on historic maps of the world; another group appears to draw from photographic images.

If you go: The Daily Ritual is up until Dec. 31; Earthly Delights continues through Dec. 2.  Pagus Gallery http://www.pagusgallery.org/ is located at 619 W Washington St. Norristown PA (484) 992-2392.  Hours Thurs-Sat 12-5.

Me at the workshop.

At least once a year, usually in the fall, I schedule a five day workshop with artist Tim Hawkesworth assisted by artist Lala Zeitlyn at the Norristown Arts Bldg.in Norristown, PA. The NAB was a beautiful old textile factory converted into studios, two gallery spaces (first floor Pagus Gallery and the lower level Project Space) and a workshop on the second floor.

My first workshop five years ago with Tim turned out to be totally different than I had expected. It was not another class in technique or color theory but a training course in accessing a deeper source of intuitive knowledge about making a painting, from marks and paint to subject matter. Though Tim acknowledges the place of academic training and will help you with technical matters if you wish, he would “rather teach a practice of in-built finding”. He firmly believes in being attuned to “the body’s response”. “Pay attention to the energy shifts, to the glimpses, be open to those nuggets of seeing”, he says.  Noting your body’s response to your mark-making is the best way to gauge whether your painting is good technically as well as being true to your deeper experience.  If the mark-making produces a sense of “uplift” then it’s right; if it produces no excitement or boredom or repetition then it’s not.

The practice calls for focus, receptivity and Self-awareness. Lala calls this “being honest”. As a result, these workshops can be very intense, equal parts euphoria and aching muscles.  I use these workshops strategically to help maintain my own studio practice, scheduling one after a series of shows when energy is drained or around a holiday period when I know it will be difficult to get into the studio. 

Each day of the workshop starts with a lecture on how to access the source of your art and “create not just another picture but a meeting”. Tim makes his points with well-chosen readings including powerful poetry, artists’ writings, and the teachings of Eastern and Western contemplatives, all lightened by a self-deprecating sense of humor. There is discussion afterwards, often led by Lala who comments and emphasizes particular points.

As you work, Tim places art books on your table with paintings by artists that resonate with what you are doing. “The best teaching is looking at the paintings you love and reading what artists wrote,” Tim says. “Look at the paintings and see how the artists made the brushstrokes, how their hand moved"! You learn from those who came before, adding your own voice to the art historical continuum. 

Towards the end of the week you can move your body of work to his large studio or one of the galleries and you look at it together and learn from it. Tim tailors his teaching to where you are in your artistic journey; you see people with a variety of experience at the workshop, from those without any art training to artists with gallery representation. 

It amazes me that after all the years that I have been attending the workshop, Tim is still so enthusiastic and his lectures still so fresh. I asked Tim and Lala what they derive from running the workshops. According to Tim, in the workshops “you just don’t know what’s going to happen; it’s mind-blowing what happens…fresh, exciting stuff”. Furthermore he says, “It helps me with my own centering seeing others get centered”.  Lala puts it this way, “we are lifted as others are lifted”.

Interested in taking a class? See http://drawingworkshops.com/

The Norristown Arts Bldg. workshop space.

The workshop has a central platform which accommodates 2 models. It is surrounded by mini-studios which afford each person extensive wall space, some privacy, and a good view of the models.  The space is also bedecked with natural and man-made objects for study and drawing. The workshop is also served by an extensive art library for pictorial reference.

Flowing brustrokes 

 2008

My parents loved art and in our house we had original art on the walls. There was nothing by anyone famous (no undiscovered Vermeers), just work they fell in love with in their travels or by artists they had met. 

Among my favorite pieces was a pair of vertical paintings on paper in a loose brushy style they bought from a Japanese artist in Rome.  The figures appeared to be engaged in a secret courtship, but I couldn’t be sure.  Another favorite was an oil painting by an artist we met while on vacation in Formia, at the seaside south of Rome.  The artist, whose first or last name (I don’t remember) was Attilio, was there vacationing with his family. My sisters and I became friendly with his daughters during our stay.

Signor’ Attilio painted our painting while we were on vacation. It showed the beach where we stayed and a little green and white rowboat pulled up on the sand that belonged to a boy who lived there. One day my father asked the boy to row us around the bay in that boat. The boy had dark hair and dark eyes; I had a crush on him and so of course, we never spoke. When I see that painting now, I also see the artist and his lively family, the mysterious boy, and my childhood.  What became of all of them?

When I picture my childhood home I can see where each painting hung and remember some of the questions they evoked.  Who painted them? What did they depict and were the scenes “real” or taken from the artist’s imagination?  There was always an element of mystery there and it occurs to me that mystery is the feeling I have when I paint my work. A painting is not an answer so much as the embodiment of questions.

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