The way in which my artistic interest began is unclear. I was born into an artistic family which meant I subconsciously took inspiration from the original paintings and prints that decorated our house. My first memory of scrutinising over an artwork was with a reproduction of The Kiss by Gustav Klimt. When looking at its gold shapes, I realised there was a face of a woman. With astonishment I asked my mum if it was a face. After confirming my discovery she pointed out the male figure. I then realised, through child’s eyes, that they were hugging. The thought of kissing did not cross my mind.
Another painting that holds emotional nostalgia is Flaming June by Frederic Leighton, a print was hung in my grandmother’s house. Similar to The Kiss, I would have only been around four when I first saw it. I viewed the painting from a very different angle than would have been originally intended by the artist. I remember the foot hidden within the vibrant blanket. The narrow hallway in which the print hung mean that it took a number of visits, with me staring at it intermittently, to discover the full figure. I haven’t viewed this painting much since my childhood. When I recently rediscovered it, I was taken aback by the proportions – as of course they were very different to my childhood memory.
Dottie-may Aston 