Phyllis Bryce Ely Relation to Deceased: daughter I would like to share this eassy I wrote a few years ago for an exhibit I had in the Dean’s Gallery at RIT that credits my mother with my life as an artist: “Look Out the Window” Thoughts on becoming an artist by Phyllis Bryce Ely I have to give my mother credit for saying that to me again, and again. Complaints of childhood boredom were answered with, “then make something.” On long car rides, she urged me to “look out the window.” So we drove and we drove and I looked and looked, and in my head I painted. I practiced making lines and shapes and I tried to count the different kinds of blues and greens I could see. I thought about how I would mix my colors of paint. In years to come, the images in my head became real paint on paper and canvas. My first notions of becoming an artist connect to Captain Kangaroo and “Magic Drawing Board.” As a pre-school girl, thanks to my mother, I sat on the floor in front of the black and white television every morning armed with oatmeal cartons, crayons, paper, scissors and glue, anything I might need to make the project of the day with the Captain. My mother made sure my supplies were ready – if not, I would panic at the thought of missing something. When Magic Drawing Board appeared, I was fascinated to watch dark lines appear out of nowhere on a white board. In moments, a complete drawing would emerge. To me, this was truly magical, and I clearly remember believing I would do that one day. While growing up I would draw endlessly. My uncle worked at Gannett and would bring my sister and me reams of plain newsprint for drawing. I loved when a new pile would arrive. Today I get the same thrill when I open a new package of Arches. My parents built a new house when I was six. When we moved in, a few of the rooms remained empty as they saved for the expense of furniture. I thought the empty rooms were great – more room to make things! I remember my Welch’s 64 oz. grape juice can period when I built endless sculptures and rockets snaking throughout the house. (This was the Apollo space era.) That was about the same time my friend and I made “Jackson Pollock art” in her family’s newly finished basement. Without a strong grasp of physics, we weren’t paying attention to the paint flying off our brushes on our backstrokes as we hurled paint at the canvas shouting “Jackson Pollock!” I was sent home, and she was left to clean the basement walls and ceiling. As I remember the paintings were pretty good. Throughout school, my teachers encouraged my artwork (“Phyllis’ creativity should be encouraged”). In high school, I began to think seriously about developing a portfolio and applying to art school. My high school teachers helped me in every way, including letting me hide the best supplies for my own use. I considered a few colleges but soon chose RIT as my preference for fine art. Happily, my parents supported my choice to be an artist. I had other more career-oriented options and scholarships, but they let me follow my heart. RIT challenged me and gave me a good foundation. I was able to explore many ideas and art forms while refining my personal goals. Even today, more than 30 years after graduating, I recall conversations, critiques and ideas that are relevant to my current work. Friendships have endured, certain colors remind me of certain people, and challenges from teachers like Bob Heischman, Bob Cole, Judd Williams, Phil Bornarth, and Ed Miller still resonate. After RIT and years of figure painting, I popped into the world ready to be an artist but unsure of what to paint. I had relied so heavily on the figure that I floundered alone in my studio. Eventually I realized my mother had already told me what to do – I only needed to “look out the window” again. I found myself sitting in Ellison Park, recognizing in the hills, trees and sky the same familiar shapes of hips, legs, backs and muscles. I was hooked. I began painting outdoors (en plein air) in the early 1980s and haven’t stopped since. I have found that painting wherever I am – from the Finger Lakes to Maine or anywhere I visit – helps me to connect to a place. My goal as an artist is to reveal that sense of place as I experience it. I feel I am successful when viewers feel a connection to a favorite place or moment of their own. I still sit on the ground when I paint, surrounded by my supplies, ready for Captain Kangaroo and Magic Drawing Board. Thanks Mom. Phyllis Bryce Ely RIT Painting and Printmaking Class of 1981
Phyllis Bryce Ely Relation to Deceased: daughter I would like to share this artist statement I wrote for an exhibit I had a few years ago at RIT. “Look Out the Window” I have to give my mother credit for saying that to me again, and again. Complaints of childhood boredom were answered with, “then make something.” On long car rides, she urged me to “look out the window.” So we drove and we drove and I looked and looked, and in my head I painted. I practiced making lines and shapes and I tried to count the different kinds of blues and greens I could see. I thought about how I would mix my colors of paint. In years to come, the images in my head became real paint on paper and canvas. My first notions of becoming an artist connect to Captain Kangaroo and “Magic Drawing Board.” As a pre-school girl, thanks to my mother, I sat on the floor in front of the black and white television every morning armed with oatmeal cartons, crayons, paper, scissors and glue, anything I might need to make the project of the day with the Captain. My mother made sure my supplies were ready – if not, I would panic at the thought of missing something. When Magic Drawing Board appeared, I was fascinated to watch dark lines appear out of nowhere on a white board. In moments, a complete drawing would emerge. To me, this was truly magical, and I clearly remember believing I would do that one day. While growing up I would draw endlessly. My uncle worked at Gannett and would bring my sister and me reams of plain newsprint for drawing. I loved when a new pile would arrive. Today I get the same thrill when I open a new package of Arches. My parents built a new house when I was six. When we moved in, a few of the rooms remained empty as they saved for the expense of furniture. I thought the empty rooms were great – more room to make things! I remember my Welch’s 64 oz. grape juice can period when I built endless sculptures and rockets snaking throughout the house. (This was the Apollo space era.) That was about the same time my friend and I made “Jackson Pollock art” in her family’s newly finished basement. Without a strong grasp of physics, we weren’t paying attention to the paint flying off our brushes on our backstrokes as we hurled paint at the canvas shouting “Jackson Pollock!” I was sent home, and she was left to clean the basement walls and ceiling. As I remember the paintings were pretty good. Throughout school, my teachers encouraged my artwork (“Phyllis’ creativity should be encouraged”). In high school, I began to think seriously about developing a portfolio and applying to art school. My high school teachers helped me in every way, including letting me hide the best supplies for my own use. I considered a few colleges but soon chose RIT as my preference for fine art. Happily, my parents supported my choice to be an artist. I had other more career-oriented options and scholarships, but they let me follow my heart. RIT challenged me and gave me a good foundation. I was able to explore many ideas and art forms while refining my personal goals. Even today, more than 30 years after graduating, I recall conversations, critiques and ideas that are relevant to my current work. Friendships have endured, certain colors remind me of certain people, and challenges from teachers like Bob Heischman, Bob Cole, Judd Williams, Phil Bornarth, and Ed Miller still resonate. After RIT and years of figure painting, I popped into the world ready to be an artist but unsure of what to paint. I had relied so heavily on the figure that I floundered alone in my studio. Eventually I realized my mother had already told me what to do – I only needed to “look out the window” again. I found myself sitting in Ellison Park, recognizing in the hills, trees and sky the same familiar shapes of hips, legs, backs and muscles. I was hooked. I began painting outdoors (en plein air) in the early 1980s and haven’t stopped since. I have found that painting wherever I am – from the Finger Lakes to Maine or anywhere I visit – helps me to connect to a place. My goal as an artist is to reveal that sense of place as I experience it. I feel I am successful when viewers feel a connection to a favorite place or moment of their own. I still sit on the ground when I paint, surrounded by my supplies, ready for Captain Kangaroo and Magic Drawing Board. Thanks Mom. Phyllis Bryce Ely RIT Painting and Printmaking Class of 1981
Kathy Graff Relation to Deceased: family friend I remember Mrs. Bryce baking cholate chip cookies but for some reason the dough didnt come out right and she let Karen and I eat the cookie dough and to me it was Just right and delicious! Another memory is Karen’s mother asking me to stick by Karen when she was being “picked on” Karens mother paid back this many times over when I was getting picked on by my brother and offering to let me stay at her home until my father arrived home. Great memories of Tobin Drive May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of His hand. An Old Irish Blessing
karen b arieno Relation to Deceased: daughter I carry you with me everyday and hear your wispers in my heart…we will take care of Dad until he is with you again. You are the love of his life! I am sad you are gone ,but relieved you are free from the disease that clouded your brain,although your sweetness and loving nature always shone through! I love you always, Karen The butterfly emerges from its silken shell- Reborn, it arises, no longer bound to earth. Free at last, the butterfly glides to heights unknown before. So do our loved ones find a beautiful release as, earthbound no more, they leave our sight and joyfully rise to a garden of matchless beauty, a place of light and peace. -Evelyn Phillips
Flo Tripi Relation to Deceased: Good Friend almost Famiily Can’t begin to tell you how sad I am about Aunt Ruth’s passing. She was a joy to be with. We spent many holidays, dinners and good times together. Aunt Ruth will be sadly missed by all. I hope she is laughing with my mom and my sister in heaven. Bless Loder, Karen, Phyllis and all the family. The butterfly emerges from its silken shell- Reborn, it arises, no longer bound to earth. Free at last, the butterfly glides to heights unknown before. So do our loved ones find a beautiful release as, earthbound no more, they leave our sight and joyfully rise to a garden of matchless beauty, a place of light and peace. -Evelyn Phillips
Anne Alepoudakis for Arthur Pixley Relation to Deceased: Father’s best friend Hello Bryce family, I know my dad would want to pay respects and be there for Joe and his family. Sending prayers to you all. Love Anne I’d like the memory of me to be a happy one, I’d like to leave an afterglow of smiles when life is done. I’d like to leave an echo whispering softly down the ways, of happy times and laughing times and bright and sunny days. I’d like the tears of those who grieve, to dry before the sun. Of happy memories that I leave when life is done.
Additional Tribute Link: http://youtu.be/yXL0C05J1fE
Phyllis Bryce Ely Relation to Deceased: daughter Pastel painting of Seneca Lake near mom’s birthplace.
Phyllis Bryce Ely Relation to Deceased: daughter pastel painting of Seneca Lake near mom’s birthplace
Phyllis Bryce Ely Relation to Deceased: daughter I would like to share this eassy I wrote a few years ago for an exhibit I had in the Dean’s Gallery at RIT that credits my mother with my life as an artist: “Look Out the Window” Thoughts on becoming an artist by Phyllis Bryce Ely I have to give my mother credit for saying that to me again, and again. Complaints of childhood boredom were answered with, “then make something.” On long car rides, she urged me to “look out the window.” So we drove and we drove and I looked and looked, and in my head I painted. I practiced making lines and shapes and I tried to count the different kinds of blues and greens I could see. I thought about how I would mix my colors of paint. In years to come, the images in my head became real paint on paper and canvas. My first notions of becoming an artist connect to Captain Kangaroo and “Magic Drawing Board.” As a pre-school girl, thanks to my mother, I sat on the floor in front of the black and white television every morning armed with oatmeal cartons, crayons, paper, scissors and glue, anything I might need to make the project of the day with the Captain. My mother made sure my supplies were ready – if not, I would panic at the thought of missing something. When Magic Drawing Board appeared, I was fascinated to watch dark lines appear out of nowhere on a white board. In moments, a complete drawing would emerge. To me, this was truly magical, and I clearly remember believing I would do that one day. While growing up I would draw endlessly. My uncle worked at Gannett and would bring my sister and me reams of plain newsprint for drawing. I loved when a new pile would arrive. Today I get the same thrill when I open a new package of Arches. My parents built a new house when I was six. When we moved in, a few of the rooms remained empty as they saved for the expense of furniture. I thought the empty rooms were great – more room to make things! I remember my Welch’s 64 oz. grape juice can period when I built endless sculptures and rockets snaking throughout the house. (This was the Apollo space era.) That was about the same time my friend and I made “Jackson Pollock art” in her family’s newly finished basement. Without a strong grasp of physics, we weren’t paying attention to the paint flying off our brushes on our backstrokes as we hurled paint at the canvas shouting “Jackson Pollock!” I was sent home, and she was left to clean the basement walls and ceiling. As I remember the paintings were pretty good. Throughout school, my teachers encouraged my artwork (“Phyllis’ creativity should be encouraged”). In high school, I began to think seriously about developing a portfolio and applying to art school. My high school teachers helped me in every way, including letting me hide the best supplies for my own use. I considered a few colleges but soon chose RIT as my preference for fine art. Happily, my parents supported my choice to be an artist. I had other more career-oriented options and scholarships, but they let me follow my heart. RIT challenged me and gave me a good foundation. I was able to explore many ideas and art forms while refining my personal goals. Even today, more than 30 years after graduating, I recall conversations, critiques and ideas that are relevant to my current work. Friendships have endured, certain colors remind me of certain people, and challenges from teachers like Bob Heischman, Bob Cole, Judd Williams, Phil Bornarth, and Ed Miller still resonate. After RIT and years of figure painting, I popped into the world ready to be an artist but unsure of what to paint. I had relied so heavily on the figure that I floundered alone in my studio. Eventually I realized my mother had already told me what to do – I only needed to “look out the window” again. I found myself sitting in Ellison Park, recognizing in the hills, trees and sky the same familiar shapes of hips, legs, backs and muscles. I was hooked. I began painting outdoors (en plein air) in the early 1980s and haven’t stopped since. I have found that painting wherever I am – from the Finger Lakes to Maine or anywhere I visit – helps me to connect to a place. My goal as an artist is to reveal that sense of place as I experience it. I feel I am successful when viewers feel a connection to a favorite place or moment of their own. I still sit on the ground when I paint, surrounded by my supplies, ready for Captain Kangaroo and Magic Drawing Board. Thanks Mom. Phyllis Bryce Ely RIT Painting and Printmaking Class of 1981
Phyllis Bryce Ely Relation to Deceased: daughter I would like to share this artist statement I wrote for an exhibit I had a few years ago at RIT. “Look Out the Window” I have to give my mother credit for saying that to me again, and again. Complaints of childhood boredom were answered with, “then make something.” On long car rides, she urged me to “look out the window.” So we drove and we drove and I looked and looked, and in my head I painted. I practiced making lines and shapes and I tried to count the different kinds of blues and greens I could see. I thought about how I would mix my colors of paint. In years to come, the images in my head became real paint on paper and canvas. My first notions of becoming an artist connect to Captain Kangaroo and “Magic Drawing Board.” As a pre-school girl, thanks to my mother, I sat on the floor in front of the black and white television every morning armed with oatmeal cartons, crayons, paper, scissors and glue, anything I might need to make the project of the day with the Captain. My mother made sure my supplies were ready – if not, I would panic at the thought of missing something. When Magic Drawing Board appeared, I was fascinated to watch dark lines appear out of nowhere on a white board. In moments, a complete drawing would emerge. To me, this was truly magical, and I clearly remember believing I would do that one day. While growing up I would draw endlessly. My uncle worked at Gannett and would bring my sister and me reams of plain newsprint for drawing. I loved when a new pile would arrive. Today I get the same thrill when I open a new package of Arches. My parents built a new house when I was six. When we moved in, a few of the rooms remained empty as they saved for the expense of furniture. I thought the empty rooms were great – more room to make things! I remember my Welch’s 64 oz. grape juice can period when I built endless sculptures and rockets snaking throughout the house. (This was the Apollo space era.) That was about the same time my friend and I made “Jackson Pollock art” in her family’s newly finished basement. Without a strong grasp of physics, we weren’t paying attention to the paint flying off our brushes on our backstrokes as we hurled paint at the canvas shouting “Jackson Pollock!” I was sent home, and she was left to clean the basement walls and ceiling. As I remember the paintings were pretty good. Throughout school, my teachers encouraged my artwork (“Phyllis’ creativity should be encouraged”). In high school, I began to think seriously about developing a portfolio and applying to art school. My high school teachers helped me in every way, including letting me hide the best supplies for my own use. I considered a few colleges but soon chose RIT as my preference for fine art. Happily, my parents supported my choice to be an artist. I had other more career-oriented options and scholarships, but they let me follow my heart. RIT challenged me and gave me a good foundation. I was able to explore many ideas and art forms while refining my personal goals. Even today, more than 30 years after graduating, I recall conversations, critiques and ideas that are relevant to my current work. Friendships have endured, certain colors remind me of certain people, and challenges from teachers like Bob Heischman, Bob Cole, Judd Williams, Phil Bornarth, and Ed Miller still resonate. After RIT and years of figure painting, I popped into the world ready to be an artist but unsure of what to paint. I had relied so heavily on the figure that I floundered alone in my studio. Eventually I realized my mother had already told me what to do – I only needed to “look out the window” again. I found myself sitting in Ellison Park, recognizing in the hills, trees and sky the same familiar shapes of hips, legs, backs and muscles. I was hooked. I began painting outdoors (en plein air) in the early 1980s and haven’t stopped since. I have found that painting wherever I am – from the Finger Lakes to Maine or anywhere I visit – helps me to connect to a place. My goal as an artist is to reveal that sense of place as I experience it. I feel I am successful when viewers feel a connection to a favorite place or moment of their own. I still sit on the ground when I paint, surrounded by my supplies, ready for Captain Kangaroo and Magic Drawing Board. Thanks Mom. Phyllis Bryce Ely RIT Painting and Printmaking Class of 1981
Kathy Graff Relation to Deceased: family friend I remember Mrs. Bryce baking cholate chip cookies but for some reason the dough didnt come out right and she let Karen and I eat the cookie dough and to me it was Just right and delicious! Another memory is Karen’s mother asking me to stick by Karen when she was being “picked on” Karens mother paid back this many times over when I was getting picked on by my brother and offering to let me stay at her home until my father arrived home. Great memories of Tobin Drive May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of His hand. An Old Irish Blessing
karen b arieno Relation to Deceased: daughter I carry you with me everyday and hear your wispers in my heart…we will take care of Dad until he is with you again. You are the love of his life! I am sad you are gone ,but relieved you are free from the disease that clouded your brain,although your sweetness and loving nature always shone through! I love you always, Karen The butterfly emerges from its silken shell- Reborn, it arises, no longer bound to earth. Free at last, the butterfly glides to heights unknown before. So do our loved ones find a beautiful release as, earthbound no more, they leave our sight and joyfully rise to a garden of matchless beauty, a place of light and peace. -Evelyn Phillips
Flo Tripi Relation to Deceased: Good Friend almost Famiily Can’t begin to tell you how sad I am about Aunt Ruth’s passing. She was a joy to be with. We spent many holidays, dinners and good times together. Aunt Ruth will be sadly missed by all. I hope she is laughing with my mom and my sister in heaven. Bless Loder, Karen, Phyllis and all the family. The butterfly emerges from its silken shell- Reborn, it arises, no longer bound to earth. Free at last, the butterfly glides to heights unknown before. So do our loved ones find a beautiful release as, earthbound no more, they leave our sight and joyfully rise to a garden of matchless beauty, a place of light and peace. -Evelyn Phillips
Anne Alepoudakis for Arthur Pixley Relation to Deceased: Father’s best friend Hello Bryce family, I know my dad would want to pay respects and be there for Joe and his family. Sending prayers to you all. Love Anne I’d like the memory of me to be a happy one, I’d like to leave an afterglow of smiles when life is done. I’d like to leave an echo whispering softly down the ways, of happy times and laughing times and bright and sunny days. I’d like the tears of those who grieve, to dry before the sun. Of happy memories that I leave when life is done.