Some People Journal
By Elizabeth Ricketson:
Some people keep a journal—I paint. My paintings are my journal. A canvas is my blank page. A brush the vehicle for expression emphasized by bold, exciting colors.
I looked around my studio and browsed through my inventory as I prepared for an exhibit. Nearly every painting sparked a specific memory, a place in my life. A dancer in my daughter’s image. A pick-up truck abandoned in the woods of an old neighborhood belonging to a much-beloved farmer. Birch trees from hikes in the woods behind my house with a kindred spirit. Sugary images from my brother Bob’s home and maple syrup–making operation. Numerous charcoal portrait studies of my granddaughters in preparation for the formal portraits I hope to finish.
An emotional significance pushes my brush across a canvas. I paint from my heart to express something deep inside me. Paint colors uniquely interpret what I see, how I see. Breaking painting rules to make my point.
A recent painting that is still in progress was inspired by Mother’s Day and my birthday this past weekend. I was in Massachusetts seeing friends and family. Six wonderfully busy days.
I had received Mother’s Day texts from loved ones that made my heart swell. Flowers picked out by my granddaughter. My adult children and grandchildren around me. There are no words to describe the love I felt as I looked around my daughter’s living room and listened to the voices of my children and the laughter.
A red velvet cake honored my preferred choice. I sat on a cloth chair made for an adult, but shared with my eldest granddaughter. She had her piece of cake and I mine. Spying the rosette on my specially selected piece, I offered it up to her, and she happily accepted. With a full mouth of frosting, we giggled heartily. A birthday card made of construction paper. One side decorated with hearts and the other my granddaughter and I holding hands with my curly hair described with long, wild coils. Now displayed on my refrigerator.
My youngest granddaughter’s art class on the twelfth. My birthday. Unexpectedly, I learned that I shared my birthday with one of her teachers. Not year, just day. With my granddaughter sitting on my lap, my arms wrapped closely around her, we sang "Happy Birthday." A delighted group happy to share some joy. She turned to me occasionally to wrap her small arms around my neck to emphasize a hug and the love we share.
Inspired by the gift of love in a time where hatred is celebrated, I returned to my home and studio. I went to work. I needed to work. In possession of the gifted flowers that I had carefully protected on the drive home from Massachusetts to Vermont. A lovely white pitcher my dear friend Cathy gave me and a small crock I had purchased while shopping together at a beautifully appointed French boutique named Scout on Cape Cod.
I knew I wanted to paint a still life employing these items. I love to paint still-life images. On a tall blonde wooden table built by my husband, Jon, I began to set up the still life. Decisions about which cloth would complement my vision and the items to be selected. The flowers were displayed in the pitcher, and the amber-trimmed crock beside the pitcher, yet somewhat forward. As usual, I wanted to include fruit. One might say that is a Cezanne influence, and it is, but more personal than that is the fact that I possess small wooden hollow apples and pears my mother displayed in my childhood home. They were kept in a light-ochre pottery bowl once used to make bread that belonged to my next-door neighbor Annie.
Annie was much more than a neighbor. She was like a grandmother to me. A May basket in honor of my birth month wrapped in pink crepe paper filled with daffodils, M&Ms, and a wishbone for us to wish upon would be dropped off on my front brick steps. In her 80s, she would ring the front doorbell and run back home in her black-heeled sensible shoes.
The still life was in place. I adjusted the fruit. Added a few bottles of varying heights. My paints laid out, brushes selected, and a large 30 x 36 canvas on my easel. Why does a 5’1" woman select to work on large canvas? Because I love to explore compositions and not limit my creativity to a small canvas. I worked solidly for two days with music flowing through my Air Pods. I focused on celebrating the love I felt.
The world of art is subjective. To “like“ my work or not is clearly up to the viewer. Just know that each painting has meant something special to me beyond what you see.
A graduate of Providence College with a BA in English, Elizabeth Ricketson has always had a love of literature and the fine arts. In the 1990s, she studied figure drawing at the Rhode Island School of Design, spending years dedicated to understanding human form, movement, and anatomy. Elizabeth’s essays focus on life experiences and life in Vermont. Essays available for consideration.
Website: elizabethricketson.net
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