A Summer From Long Ago
In the middle of a June day, as I hang one of Elizabeth’s dresses to dry in the sun, I hear the sound of the cicada reassuring me it’s...
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Pam Shensky
Long ago I painted faces with deep lines and curious lives. I painted Native Americans and old Frenchmen and weathered cowboys with ruddy skin and piercing eyes. I painted with thick strokes of umbers and ochres, using up my energy of youth. Today, I paint things from my kitchen and my garden, simple things that bring me happiness.
In my summer kitchen, there are tomatoes picked from the garden that blush on the windowsill and cucumbers carefully packed in glass jars, popping into the night as they seal. Melons and long neck squashes cover the counter and cadmium colored bell peppers are chopped in chunks on my cutting board waiting to be tossed in a summer salad. Handfuls of zinnias find their way into glass jars, causing memories of Elizabeth’s bouquets from long ago. Gardenias scent the air in May and Magnolias make June smell like lemons. In mid-summer, pears come in season and figs are picked and made into preserves. These are the images that I fill my canvases with now.
In winter when I have more time to sit at my easel, when the garden is quiet, and the season is still, I mix a different palette from that of my youth. This one is from the untainted colors of my garden, cadmiums, thalos and cobalt; colors and subjects that are right for me now.
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