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“The full name of the little church is Pieve di Sant 'Andrea a Cercina. It is in the community of Sesto Fiorentino, just outside of Florence, Italy,” says June Carey. “To get there, I drove through the tiny village of Serpiolle. The stone walls close in on the street so that cars are expected to honk on the blind corners before going into them. If you are lucky, there is room for one small car. Once through the town, at a deserted intersection was this church with its walled cemetery. Nearby, I saw this woman gathering greens from the field for dinner that night. She is my favorite part of the scene. I try to imagine myself getting older and living the life that she must live there. I would, however, probably be better at painting the scene than living it.
"I returned another time and the place looked deserted. The door was open and I went inside with my camera, thinking to grab a few photos. There was a very heavy scent of white lilies and in the dim light, across the barren interior courtyard I saw a table, where the lilies were in a large vase. I snapped one photo and was ready to fire the next, when suddenly, from a small doorway I didn't know existed, a nun appeared, speaking rapidly and waving a bony finger at me. Although I had no idea what she said, I knew she did not want me to take photos! So much for my love affair with the inside of old churches, I guess one should never assume a place is deserted in Italy.”
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The little farmhouse in Pennsylvania where I grew up was always alive with
singing, laughter and a love of the arts. My father, a voice instructor,
introduced us to the steady flow of eccentric, larger-than-life characters
found in his greatest passion – the dramatic world of the Italian opera.
Aida’s rich theme always seemed to be playing in the background as I went in
search of a reality I could call my own, escaping into the quiet roar of the
singing crickets and song of the meadowlark. I could lose myself in the
turquoise twilight magic of a summer evening or breath of sweet fields of
winter wheat beneath the rising sliver of a moon. I found my true love and
years later found myself longing for the beautiful fields of my childhood,
where everything was the way it should be. My passion springs forth through
the beauty of the fertile earth, which has always been my real teacher.
I began painting full time in 1982, doing my time as a starving artist while
raising my young son. I was happy to trade this tragic cliché for the happy
success of sell-out gallery shows and award banquets. In 1991, I married
maritime artist David Thimgan, and we thrived together. On one late summer
afternoon escape, traveling to the Mendocino coast, I discovered the
California wine country. I was so happy to have found a place in California
that reminded me of my long lost fields of Pennsylvania. I painted my first
vineyard scene in 1996 and, as time passed, this interest has taken me to the
countryside of Tuscany, where I feel I probably lived in a former lifetime. My
Italian opera theme song has never left my heart, and somehow life seems to
have come full circle, to connect, again, the passions of my life.
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