Friday, January 4, 2008
Charming little prairie girl. Such a romantic image.
But not for me.
Sure I created this piece and i like it well enough - i mean, i like the background part of it more than the image. and yes, she is pretty and sweet looking enough......
But, i don't know why, i just have never been one to be in love with Americana. I like folk art well enough and i love primitive and outsider art (which is different), but elongated hearts made out of roughly chiseled wood or rusty tin doo-dads with a curly-q rusty wire looping around as a hanger, tattered cotton made into hooked rugs, milk paint, raggedy ann and andys...just don't do anything for me. to look at these things in a shop, say, just don't give me an "oh how darling" reaction at all-- no emotional sigh, wishing i were of a different era.
well, that's not fair, i like the certain eras - ones i can remember - you know the 50's through the 80's, say. i loved the honesty of the Andy Griffith Show, for instance - But i never really got into the Little House on the Prairie, never really liked barn dwellers or corn huskers.
My mom owned an antique store where she specialized in early american pine furniture. i think i learned from looking at butter churns, bed warmers, pot bellied stoves and rigid tall-backed benches, that there really wasn't much to get all romantic about. I mean, those times were tough, dusty and hard.
My idea of a romantic era involves a simple, honest, but somewhat civilized lifestyle. Mayberry type of living. Like my early childhood when i was being looked after by my strict Baptist grandma who we clearly understood. she talked no nonsense; she had raised 4 boys and one daughter single-handedly as a widow- who believed in using the "switch" when her kids (and even the neighborhood kids) became too unruly.
I love to dream about the days when young girls wore white gloves to church and they were expected to keep them white. They wore white ankle stockings and mary janes and pretty little smock topped dresses with a fluffy petticoats and ruffled undies underneath. When hair was pincurled overnight and bangs chopped high on the forehead that would somehow emphasize a broad mouth full of milk white teeth in a healthy Pepsident grin. When pop-beads and plastic smelling baby doll houses and tiny tables for tea parties were the thrill. When big brothers had cap-guns and played cowboys and Indians with a bow and arrow set that had a faux sheepskin quiver, brightly colored feather arrows with rubber suction tips. When daddies wore their pants up to their necks with real leather belts that could be used for a beating if you ticked off your mom during the day and she ordered him not to spare the child.
Yeah, those are the days to remember!!!!! I paint those days a lot.
But heck, sometimes i like to add in other eras like Prairie Girl, into the mix for interest. but, on the whole, its just not my bag.