JUNE PONTE
painter
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I have always seen brilliant painters as mediums prying open the door between worlds, and in their brushstrokes, unspoken truths. Sometimes the artist is aware of the Muse ushering him or her into a world no one has yet seen, but unique is the one who shares a dialogue with the subject. My next guest is a rare soul who is an embodiment of what happens when inspiration and the inspired meet in palpable fusion.
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June Ponte—painter, writer, illustrator, and authentic gifted medium—bridges the chasm between centuries in her living, breathing portraits of the inspired ones. Walking into her enchanted art gallery and shop in historic Milford, Pennsylvania raises the hair on one’s arms and brings the observer into another realm once the door shuts. Her numerous oil paintings of geniuses past snag the eye with uncanny ability and whisper something beautiful if one steps close enough with an open heart. Oscar Wilde, Yeats, John Lennon, and Freda Kahlo live, peering out from antique frames equally as breathtaking as their likenesses painted on canvas. Edgar Allan Poe—the guest of honor at Poe and Raven Gallery—peers out of his reverie in various poses, each riveting as the man and the legacy.
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Ponte’s genius is not only her artistic gift but her spiritual ability to paint a visceral biography in brushstrokes; her portraiture tells more than most reliable accounts of these greats, and her re-telling is dipped into the light and shadow of unspoken fires—fires endured by both subject and painter alike. And it is in this duet that we not only see the person presented but hear the song of their souls.
It is sheer delight to give you June Ponte in her own words, followed by links to her art & her gallery website. For a full, gorgeous sampling of her paintings, gallery pics, offerings, and inspirations check out Inspiration Speaks Facebook page. Enjoy!
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Q: As an illustrator, artist, and medium, you are deeply and soulfully connected to the past, be it literary figures, American presidents, Hindu legends, or souls crossed over. At what age do you remember times and people of long ago igniting your inspiration as a creative being?
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A: I think the connection with 'the other side' began to form and inform my art-sense around the age of eight years. My mother died a week before my eighth birthday, and she was the first person I saw as a spirit being, not long after her passing. It was around that age also, that I began to draw. My mother read tea leaves and also was an excellent artist. And back in the early 1900s, my grandfather used to draw schooners with a fountain pen on my grandmother's linen tablecloths. So, it was in the air and in the blood; for me, art and the mystic influence of the spirit world were entwined at a very early age.
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Q: Your artistry of decorating your extraordinary shop in historic Milford, PA invokes magic, Gypsy dust, and mesmerizing lore surrounding your subjects such as Edgar Allan Poe, Oscar Wilde, John Lennon and Frida Kahlo…How do you choose your lush antique frames, fabrics, colors, and ambient lighting?
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A: So much originates in childhood. I was raised in the home of my Portuguese immigrant grandmother; her house was darkly post-Victorian, but there was much beauty and lyrical movement in the shapes of furniture, and soft colored designs woven in the Oriental carpets. Chairs either had arms and carved vacant eyes and sat around the dining room table. Others were in the parlor, overstuffed in dusky burgundy and green mohair; they squatted on carved legs which peeped through silky braided fringe.
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I was raised as a child of the past, not allowed to turn on a light switch or open the fridge...everything was controlled. The only light in the home would be where my grandmother was working or sitting. I got used to the idea of small and occasional lights, and how they 'saved' one from pure darkness. Hence, I am very fond of unusual old lamps! And I never start a painting without having selected a frame first. Putting Poe or Oscar Wilde in a modern frame would be like an aging artist strutting about in an outfit meant for a 16-year-old. Neither the painted subject nor the artist is complemented.
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Q: Your exceptional, heartfelt dedication to the real Poe—the man and the sensitive, mystic/poet versus the false image of him as an infamous scoundrel of the horror genre—is almost hypnotic in its depth. Your oil portraits of the 19th-century writer draw the eye in beneath the paint and down to the soul. What ignited your connection with Poe and what about his spirit and life that speaks to you with such crystalline beauty?
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A: Poe and I share similar childhoods; Poe was orphaned at age three by the death of his parents in 1811. My mother died when I was nearly eight, and my father left me to be raised by my grandparents. It was clear that Mr. Allan did not care much for Poe, and pretty much adopted him to please his wife. It was evident that my grandmother did not want the burden of raising me and my sister when we arrived there in 1959. So, oddly, years before I knew this about Poe's life, I connected with him. Compassion for the misunderstood creative soul, the misfit... And yet, Poe rose up and far beyond the horrible death of his parents, the torment of his stepfather, his wife's illness and passing, and lived to express the genius of who he was, even in his short life's time. His suffering in an era when there was little known to alleviate it, must have been intense.
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Q: As a medium, do you feel that some of your well-known subjects pass through your brush? If so, are they invited, or do they volunteer? What do you hope is your gift to them as you bring them to life through your own inner lens?
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A: Yes, there are many times when I am aware of a presence; the intensity depends on the subject. The most clearly evident experience was when I painted the large portrait of Oscar Wilde...I was painting him when I heard Oscar ask for his eyes to be painted a little more green, which of course I did. And I am careful in choosing his frames; he was very sensitive to design. Because of my work as a medium, my subjects in spirit are pulled to me when I paint them, and there is oftentimes a sense of enhanced energy or mood as I work, which can affect the painting. I feel that my subjects know that they are loved and understood, and it seems they are pleased that I want to paint them.
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Q: You are back in the 19th century and you are at a rare gathering where Poe is reading and electrifying the room in his dynamic manner. Where are you sitting, what details do you notice, and what moves you the most? Afterward, you approach him…What do you say? What does he answer? What lies unspoken in the clear gray depths of his eyes?
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A: Actually, I would wait for him to come to me; I feel he would have the 'knowing' to find me in a crowd. He appears to me more slender than his daguerreotypes show...his are crisp movements, with eyes that seem to search my very soul. Yet he is gracious, well spoken, and very self-conscious. I am soaking in the precious moment of meeting someone in the flesh that I care so much for, and feel I've spent so much time with, and I'm curious to see if he seems to somehow 'know' me as well. I see a warmth and gratitude in his eyes; I also can see fleeting visions of sorrow which he is trying to mask for the moment. I say 'Mr. Poe, I am so moved by your reading! It is a gift to be in your presence, sir.' He blushes and bows, and seems to restrain himself from speaking in a personal way. He asks if I'd like to go out on the veranda, and we walk out into a starry spring night...
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Q: What was the first portrait you did that set fire to your creative consciousness? How did you feel and how were you changed as an artist?
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A: I was newly married, and in my early 20s...I painted a portrait of an emaciated Biafran woman holding her baby which was dying of starvation. My in-laws loved the painting and kept commenting on it, so I gave it to them. They chose to hang it over the dining room table, which upset me quite a bit. I realized that just like the other side, life goes on, but in images, it only needs be awakened properly. I loved discovering that I could bring these people 'forward' and still do. It is an intimate, powerful, and passionate exchange with another soul.
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Q: As a woman who bridges the worlds, what is your creative process like? Explain an exceptionally inspired time at the easel, what your workspace looks like, if there is a cup nearby and what you have in it, what favorite hues have been conjured on your palette… What thoughts flit in and out of your peripheral consciousness?
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A: I am blessed to have a studio, but I always have preferred to paint in the kitchen. As in childhood, there is the most light in the kitchen most often; and it seems the happiest room. Paintings are usually done on a tabletop easel, as I prefer to paint rather small works. The best work happens when I am transported and have 'missing time'...suddenly hours have passed. Always near the easel, there is an old wooden box of oil paints, a cup of tea in my favorite mug (which has an image of my mom as a little girl on it), and a palette that always has some alizarian crimson, yellow ochre, and cerulean blue. Sometimes I'll listen to music, Edith Piaf being my favorite. Other times, I'll listen to old tapes of the Art Bell show; Art was a paranormal radio talk show host, the very best. Years ago I'd stay up all night to hear his show live on the radio, and paint 'til dawn. And still at other times, the subject compels me to be with them, feel their heart, and listen.
Q: Is there a time of day that calls to you—twilight, dawn, sunset, or midnight? Do the hours of transition speak to your spirit, and if so, what do they teach you?
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A: Usually I am up by 5am and I will be preparing to work after I make breakfast. If I am left to paint without interruption, I can paint from dawn, and most often will slow or stop around the time of twilight. Twilight seems to create a sense of spiritual energy that feels as if nothing is nailed down...everything can float away or change...it can charge work or have an unexpected effect and the painting is altered.
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Q: As a writer, how do words come to you as opposed to your paintings? As an illustrator, how do your images arrive as opposed to your paintings? How does the painter in you observe the world as opposed to the illustrator or author?
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A: Words come to me through a real need to express myself succinctly; it is so important to be understood. I've always loved words and disliked numbers; words always came to me easily. If words were a group of people, I'd definitely have them over for tea.
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I don't much care for illustrating; it is something I've often done out of necessity at the expense of my artistic expression. Illustrations are generated out of research and then get formed somehow though the fingers, while following the guidelines of my client.
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The painter in me looks at what I want to paint as if from a cloud, and she falls into it with passion. The illustrator in me is tainted with a chained-dog sense of obligation, and carries the burden of responsibility; the mystic world has to wait. The author is sharing ideas, and choosing words as one chooses puzzle pieces, to make her point. In the right head, with the right subject, writing can be magic. It's not my first skill so I am surprised and pleased when I am able to express myself well.
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Q: It is a lush, spring twilight and you are hosting a garden party strung with soft fairy lights… Everyone who has appeared on your easel is sitting around this great table overflowing with other-worldly fare and conversation. Who is seated across from you, to your left and to your right? Someone makes a toast to their artist…who? And as everyone raises their glass of nectar, what doe he/she say?
A: Ah, that's a great image! Poe on my left, with his suit jacket brushing my arm now and then, making my little arm hairs stand up; I'm aware of his every movement! Oscar Wilde is holding court across from me. Dickens, Lincoln, Hemingway, and Frida are there. Frida sits on my right, and her ribald sense of humor makes Edgar's eyes bulge...but Oscar takes it quite in stride. Dickens and Lincoln are discussing social issues, while Hemingway pours himself another nectar. Poe raises his glass and turns to me, saying "To the one who sees and understands"...and it seems as if I have been blessed.
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WEBSITE
POE AND RAVEN GALLERY (MILFORD, PA)