Field of Memories

Field of Memories. Oil on stretched canvas, 16x20, $150

Eric Bryson was my first true love. We met, I believe, in the choir at the Second Congregational Church. We became friends and we dated and remained friends even after we stopped dating.

We had, and still have, a rich and complex relationship. Eric became a friend of my family in general, and my mother in particular. The two of them had similar senses of humor, and similar senses of the absurd. They argued well, too. I became close with Eric's parents, too, and for years, we were in and out of each other's homes, and pretty much always in each other's lives.

We've seen each other fairly regularly since Peter and I moved back. Some of these visits, sadly, have been occasioned by deaths. But this one wasn't. Eric came over to the house, said hi to Peter and the dogs and saw my studio ("Gee, Carrie, at the age of 53, you finally have a clubhouse," he said.)

We drove to a field on Route 2, just past the casino. I painted and Eric let me talk him into sketching. I gave him some charcoal and a pad of Wallis paper. This is a grayish brown paper, very thick, with a heavily sanded finish for picking up charcoal or pastel marks.

I started painting and we began talking and laughing and reminiscing, and after an hour or so, I asked if I could look at his drawing. Sure, he said. And when I went over to the back of the car, where he'd laid the paper down to draw, I realized that he was drawing on the back of the sheet.

Well, he said, he was drawing on the white side.

Honestly, the two of us laughed and laughed. And I had to think of my mother. She'd have howled.