Have you ever had fond memories of places that look nothing like what you remember? That’s happened to me. Like when you go back to your elementary school 50 years later and think, “Wow! This place is a lot smaller than I remember!”
Well, the acrylic painting I just finished (and I’m not very good with acrylic) is of where I grew up – at least it’s what I remember.
When I was younger, we lived on the Tennessee River in a community called “Suck Creek.” Click on this link and you can read more about it in my other blog.
After having moved away many years ago, I imagine standing in our front yard and watching boats go up and down the river. I can remember watch rain move toward me like a wall creeping in my direction. I remember an unobstructed view of the bend in the river as it worked its way through the Tennessee River Gorge.
But if you were visit this same place today, it looks nothing like the painting. Why is that?
Because I wanted to memorialize the ideal, not the reality. When I’m dead and gone, this painting will help my children and grandchildren see what I remember, or rather the imagined best of what I remember. The ideal. The sense. The longing of home.
Wall Hole Coverings - the Art of Anthony C. Baker 