History comes alive

I stepped up the uneven wood steps and opened the door to the colonial era home. As a ten-year old, I was accustomed to hanging out with my mom on weekend day-trips, but this excursion really sticks in my memory. We entered a room with natural and soft lighting, casting shadows from the windows across worn wooden tables. This New England antique store wasn’t much different from any other I had been in to browse, but that day the smell of the dusty books and ephemera stopped me.

I suppose I was getting to the age of some kind of self-awareness, when you realize you won’t live forever, and that fact is a common denominator with all other carbon-based life on the planet. I was instantly intrigued with all of the little things, and my eye fell upon a book. It was small, with a tan brown leather cover and gold embossed lettering that said, S.S. Truant. I opened the pages and saw in faint pencil script, “Charles Pilsbury, from his aunt C.D. Bolles.” Each stained and yellowed page held a new mystery. The book, printed in 1837 in Worcester, Massachusetts, felt like a time capsule and a link to someone I didn’t know but was now part of my consciousness. I used my allowance to buy the book for (I think) about two dollars. I have treasured it for the last 45 years or so and purchased other small antiques to add to my collection when I was a kid. A green book published in 1863 and titled, The Boy of Spirit, several advertising cards from the late 1800’s and postcards with notes included, all became treasures I collected before I moved to Hilton Head, and became a teen.

The child who imagined the lives of strangers from a name in a book grew up to be an artist whose work focuses on connections between people and nature. I think about these things often as I am drawn to vintage photos for inspiration for paintings. What draws me to these images, and layered texture that feels alive with history, is the idea that we are all here for such a small amount of time. We make the impact we can during that time. We have relationships and love. We have our time, and when it’s over, are we forgotten? Do we become just a name in a book?

I like to think about the people that I paint from these vintage photos. They are not models who have set up a scene. They are real people, with lives captured for a few moments in a photo. I am honoring their life while making a connection to our future when I paint them. They are haunting, because they are us.

Ultimately, I hope to connect with my collectors as they reflect on these pieces. We are all just doing the best we can with the precious time we have. Each of us have a distinct story to tell that should be respected for its unique perspective. When you look at these paintings, do you relate to something about the people featured? Do you wonder what they were doing and thinking that day, or what they were struggling with or loving at that time?

Before the Market, 10” x 10” oil on cradled panel

Saturday in the Park, 10” x 10” oil on cradled panel

Summer Swim, 10” x 10” oil on panel