The Ellen Skidmore Retrospective, part of an exhibition that includes Matt and Karine Maynard of Maynard Studios and the Homage Equine Exhibit, is coming to Lexington’s Headley Whitney Museum of Art April 8-June 19. With Skidmore’s magical realist paintings, the exhibit will celebrate an artist who embraces “the whole package of life: the good as well as the bad,” as she says. She’s been painting for more than 30 years, developing a style that is distinct, imaginative and emotionally eloquent.
Skidmore, who has a studio and by-appointment-only gallery in Midway, spoke with a stutter as a child and was on a quest to find her voice—literally, as “it was jumbled up somewhere in her throat” (a quote from her children’s book, Ellen, The Little Girl Who Found Her Voice), and figuratively, as it was waiting to be expressed in her chosen medium. She first invented and then established herself as a fine artist.
Since Skidmore’s birth in 1963, much has been written on the healing attributes of creating art. Forging a connection between the mind and the body, art can soothe or disturb; comfort or provoke questions. Dr. Daniel Nahum, a Kentucky-based psychiatrist, once had a group activity in which he placed a large sheet of paper on a wall and asked patients to draw an image to express their emotions. “It was very therapeutic,” Nahum said, “as it allowed patients to work through their emotions.”
For Skidmore, finding her voice was a long and bumpy road. She has an early childhood memory of looking up to the sky and feeling confused as to why she was here. The sky, serendipitously, plays a big part in her paintings. And it might have touched her subconscious: Soon after, Skidmore noticed that when she began to draw or paint, that feeling of intense questioning subsided. The sheer motion of putting a crayon or brush to paper made the budding artist feel peaceful and grounded.
Growing up in Baltimore, Skidmore had a great-aunt who owned a jewelry store nearby. The great-aunt paid young Ellen a quarter to create little paintings or decorations on paper bags for her store. They were simple and fresh, and they brought joy and bursts of laughter from her auntie, which made Ellen feel good. “My family and art teachers always encouraged this joyful and unfettered approach,” Skidmore said, “and didn’t stick me in special art classes or make a big deal of it like parents do now.”
Skidmore remembers that she wanted to do assignments in art class differently than the way it was instructed, not out of defiance but because she felt safe and uninhibited to create in her own way. Art became her sanctuary, and though Skidmore sensed early on that it was unique, she didn’t fully value it until later.
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Skidmore moved to the Bluegrass State in 1981 because she loved horses and was looking to join an art therapy program. Ironically, her speech impediment disqualified her from the art therapy class. To compensate, she went all in and decided to major in art at the University of Kentucky.
While there, Skidmore was required to take music as part of her curriculum. She had played violin briefly as a child but really preferred sports and riding horses, which left little time for violin practice. Dan Mason, the UK Orchestra Concert chair, was her instructor. “Dan was very patient with me,” Skidmore acknowledged. “He would also give me free tickets to the philharmonic every Friday.”
In time, Skidmore noticed that music soothed her. “It made me feel normal,” she said. Mason and Skidmore became friends, and she has captured him twice on canvas in “Bravo” and “Take a Bow,” an early surrealistic piece.
Music seeps into Skidmore’s works with the presence of instruments: a girl raising a violin or a keyboard woven into a horse’s tail. Her process of painting the subject matter and background begins with the peaceful act of trying to make colors harmonize and brushstrokes synthesize into patterns and rhythms. “I want all that to comfort me and ground me and sing to me, and I don’t stop on a painting until it does,” she said.
There is a lot of movement in Skidmore’s paintings, even when the subject matter is still. The colors, lines and forms vibrate and syncopate. There are subtle etudes of gestures and sweeping large movements. She likes to paint to the sound of music—classical but also rock ’n’ roll: The Clash, The B-52s, the Talking Heads. And she likes her music loud. “It sets the tone for painting,” Skidmore said.
Horses, much like music, have been a major force in Skidmore’s life. She has been riding them, connecting with them emotionally, and communicating non-verbally with them. “Horses are such healers,” she said. “They are so present and honest, and much more sensitive and intelligent than we give them credit for.”
Horses are a recurring subject matter in her paintings. Big-bellied on tall slender legs, they often overpower the images with their large tranquil presence. Horses have pulled Skidmore through some rough life patches, and now, she repays the debt by being their advocate. A few years ago, she launched Throw Me a Carrot, LLC, with items sporting her whimsical designs for sale; part of the proceeds go to the Thoroughbred Aftercare Alliance, a charitable organization that provides retraining and rehoming for Thoroughbred racehorses following racing careers. Being an outspoken horse advocate, Skidmore admitted: “I didn’t last on the racetracks because I wouldn’t keep my mouth shut.” Her “two boys”—Thoroughbreds that she rescued—are now 23 and 24.
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Skidmore’s reputation precedes her. Art dealers call her “tough,” but she knows how to fend for herself. She has been honing her art and business skills for three decades. Fans of Skidmore’s work love it because it is visceral and honest. She channels something real and unspoken that is universal. There is also comfort and exuberance in her paintings that grab the viewer before the viewer might grasp their meanings. Her images take the viewer into a different reality that does not conform to reason. They pull on the heartstrings and ignite the imagination.
Sometime after college, Skidmore and her husband moved with their horses to Sedona, Arizona. She was in her early 30s and riding horses every day when she learned she was pregnant. “I thought my life was over,” she remembered. “Horses were everything for me then.”
She told her doctor, sobbing, “I don’t think I am a mother type.” He looked at her and said, “Humans are animals. When you see your baby, your instinct will kick in.”
It turned out that he was right. “I had no idea I could love anything as much as I have loved her,” said Skidmore about her daughter, Coco.
In Arizona, Skidmore boarded her horses near the Hopi Reservation. One day, she visited the reservation during the ritual dances. After the ceremony, she spoke to the chief, who told her: “We believe that people like you, who have a hard time speaking, are channels for other things. We believe you have a gift.”
It was a life-changing moment for Skidmore. She realized her condition could guide her to her purpose. It helped her to get her ego out of the way and focus on painting. She was doing something she was born to do.
Now while painting, Skidmore tries not to think about others. “If I paint from right where I am inside, then that is where there is an emotional connection,” she explained. She paints what is going on in her life—motherhood, being with her horses, dog walking, moving to a new town, spending time with a friend, saying goodbye, weeding the garden, going on a boat ride, sitting by a pond and feeling peaceful, sitting in an armchair and feeling stressed out. In her painting, Skidmore is channeling basic human experience in her own unrestrained, emotionally eloquent way.
When the world news is particularly bleak, Skidmore feels especially drawn to painting. If there’s something troubling that she can do nothing about, she tries to combat that with fantasy and simplicity. When the 9/11 terrorist attacks occurred, she blocked the news. She didn’t want to talk about it. Instead, she created a series of paintings with two ballerinas stopping mid-practice. They are comforting each other with an embrace. It is an emotional and intuitive response to the world in trouble. That’s also where Skidmore’s depiction of subjects hovering over the earth comes from. Her fragile human figures often are floating, flying, as if the law of gravity didn’t apply to them. Out of the ugly, she creates something free and beautiful.
When Skidmore doesn’t paint for a week or longer, she usually feels that something is wrong. “I get too much in my head,” she said. The act of painting grounds and liberates her at the same time. “It has always been there for me, and it heals me from life’s pain.”
IF YOU GO:
Ellen Skidmore Retrospective
April 8–June 19
Headley Whitney Museum of Art
4435 Old Frankfort Pike, Lexington
859.255.6653
headley-whitney.org