Friday, April 17, 2009

she could paint anything

I’ve written before that “Mom could paint anything.” During my childhood I saw her do cowboys on wood, Jesus on velvet or twisted spiraling checkerboards inspired by Op Art - all with a style of her own. But I never saw this early 1960s nude, which must have been stashed away. It was a revelation when I came across it last week and it reminds me of something Walter Robinson might do (well, without the clothes and kisses) - though Mom saw no irony in it and even looked at me sort of blank when I suggested cheesecake.


Sheree Rensel said...

You are so lucky to have this heritage. My mom was not the creative type. She was all business. I am thankful I got my father's creative genes. His mother painted murals in churches in Southern Illinois circa the 30's-40's? I never got to see any. I was just told the story.
I did see my father's works of art. Plastic violins on black velvet. Tiny sculptural installations created in tag board of every machine in the factory in which he worked. The
pièce de résistance just had to be his 1970 cooper van he remodeled in red and black vinyl with silver upholstery rivets. It even had a built in beer cooler. Yeah, that was my dad! Maybe that is why I have so much "art" class! LOL

CAP said...

Maybe Walter Robinson, but definitely the kind of nude JIM SHAW would collect for his Thrift Store Paintings.

Heather said...

Did you used to paint together?

Eva said...

Hi Heather ~

Sitting side by side painting, that kind of activity - I do not remember. But I was in her studio all of the time and learned to use just about everything she had in it.

What I remember the most - what was the most valuable - was the culture of artists in her life. She had a gallery with 3 other women in the 60s. Plus she belonged to some artists society and they showed in parks all over town in the summer. For days I would practically live in these parks and roam around while Mom sat with her paintings. It wasn't high art, none of it, but it was lots of fun for me. I grew up with this idea that everyone was an artist.

This doesn't mean that she was very encouraging once I got older though. By the time I was a teenager she had a dope dealer moved into our home and the studio, a place I adored, became a stash house, full of pounds and pounds. And no longer much of a place to make art.