Summary
What Elizabeth Blackadder likes about cats is their serene self- possession, that air of quiet, singular containment which gives nothing away. Although she would never be immodest enough to do so, Blackadder might well be describing herself. There is a stillness about her, a natural reserve springing first perhaps from shyness, but also from that common reluctance among painters to define themselves in words. Who they are lies on the easel or in the frame: the work, they believe, should tell us all we need to know.
So what do we learn of Blackadder from her exquisite watercolours and oils of flowers, dream-like landscapes and paradoxically- floating still-lifes with vegetables and the bric-a-brac of foreign places? The first glance says these are objects beautifully observed, but there is an elusive, secretive quality about them, too.See the full content of this document
Extract
The Queen's Elizabeth; As the Royal Painter and Limner Prepares for a New Exhibition, She Tells Anne Simpson Why the Next Picture Is Always Her Favourite
Blackadder's is an enigmatic hand. Which brings us back to cats. There used to be three: Fred and Rosie, now departed but immortalised in countless paintings. That leaves Kikko, a gliding tortoiseshell who moves from room to room, so sveltely confident of territorial rights, she stretches languidly across works in progress, leaving behind paw marks as an imprimatur. Does Blackadder paint them out? "Oh no. Well, only sometimes. But I wouldn't disturb a cat stret...
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