Joyce Cordone

I am originally from Ithaca, NY. Ithaca is a beautiful city tucked away in the southern tier valley immersed in scenic views of patchwork hillsides, tumbling waterfalls and gorges. The culture is greatly influenced by Cornell University and Ithaca College. Ithaca has many quaint areas with cobblestone streets and impressive architecture.

My playground was an English Tudor called the North Side House. It served solely for the pleasure of the children in the neighborhood. It was a place for us to go to laugh, to learn and to love one another. This was during the time when doors were left unlocked at night and the only unannounced visitor would be the tooth fairy.

I grew up in a modest but loving home, much too small yet just big enough for four sisters, one brother and a beloved cousin. We shared everything, including our imaginations. Daddy worked 16 hour days and Mother always went without just to see that her children did not. I truly thank them now. I am not certain if I thanked them then. They thoroughly enjoyed us.

We are a family that loves to sing. Singing was our major source of entertainment. My parents expected us to be good students and were unrelenting in instilling wholesome values. We went to church regularly. It was an important part of our lives. As a child, I loved to tell stories to my sisters. I would describe each scene in such detail that we could fine ourselves out of bed and standing in the middle of the store spending vacations at Disney Land, getting through those endless days before Christmas or reliving a wonderful moment in time that we simply did not want to end. This was my education, the background that has led me into the privileged world of an artist.

Initially I did only pencil drawings. My beloved husband Len was my inspiration for leaving the pencil and embracing the paintbrush. I found refuge in his critical evaluation throughout the creation of each painting. The majority of my paintings are very detailed and in watercolor. My scenes evolve from the imagination of my heart. Some paintings take months to complete. That is primarily because when a painting is near to completion, I am reluctant to call in done. My late husband Len found joy in letting me know that there was no need for another brush stroke or I would surely ruin what had taken so long to accomplish. I still hear those words even now therefore I end this and call it done.