Paula E. Borsetti
Paula Borsetti creates abstract paintings that reflect her love of family, friends, and the natural environment of New England. Working primarily in acrylic, she creates layered paintings meant to evoke personal moments and narratives. She loves the act of painting, how movement and materials become formal elements, how thoughts and feelings weave in and out, and the dance between it all.
Her PALS series is an ongoing body of work inspired by the battle her friend’s son recently lost to ALS. Diagnosed at 25, he fought valiantly for 9 ½ years. Creating this series is a way for the artist to process witnessing what this disease does to people, both those who are living with it and their family, friends, caregivers, and community. For this series, she states, “I am currently using words describing Bobby’s experience with ALS as layers submerged in the paintings. I am rolling these thoughts and words around in paint and letting them lead the way to paintings that resonate with a sense of strength, hope, perseverance, awareness, support, and life.” Even though Bobby has lost his battle with ALS, Paula will continue to use her art to advocate for awareness and a cure.
While being an art educator for almost three decades fed her creativity and her desire to nurture, Paula is now painting full-time. Paula’s work is exhibited locally, virtually, and is in several private collections. You can see her work at the Salted Cod Arthouse and the North Shore Arts Association.
Statement
For as long as I can remember, I have been creating, my hands busy at work. To create is like breathing—in and out, a part of you that you can harness to ground, elevate, soothe, and heal. And like breathing, not doing it is not an option.
I go to the sunrise, to the same beach. Tides come in, then out, leaving behind a different trace. The same place, yet never the same. That is my act of painting. I come to the studio, put out paint, begin the process, start the ebb and flow. At the end of the day, the tide has receded and nothing is the same. Each mark, color, and stroke is a new discovery.
Working with acrylic paint allows me to layer traces of what is becoming. Charcoal, graphite, crayon, and stencils all lend themselves to the story. A mark, a response; a color, a response; a movement, a response; a sound, a response; a feeling, a response; a pain, a response; a smell, a response. Wild, crazy marks—frenetic energy slashes—followed by a slow mark tracing a path. I am the tortoise and the hare dancing together all at once.
I paint because it brings me joy, and like breathing, it sustains my life. I paint to understand myself and the world around me. I paint to bring me closer to who I am and who I am meant to be. I paint to heal, to see, to be.
What initially sparked your interest in art?
I grew up in a creative household. My father was a patent draftsman by trade, but he was a craftsman at heart. He was always drawing to learn, to figure things out, always creating. I loved the tools of his trade: the pencils, rulers, erasers, copy paper, anything from the hardware store, carving tools—anything was fair game to create with. My mom taught us to sew, to bake, and to love learning. My sister Jane was also always creating. I remember she made me a full-size Snoopy Sopwith Camel Doghouse for a doll carriage parade. Snoopy had his debut in 1965, and we were in love. She went on to become an art and elementary teacher and also an artist. My other sisters found their creative voices in words, song, and craft.
For as long as I can remember, I have been creating, my hands busy at work. I would paint any surface I could get my hands on, even going so far as to color our boring white railings on the porch with crayon. We drew on the walls as we were waiting for my father to finish wallpapering them. There might be several years' worth of drawings under that wallpaper. If we were home sick, we had a drawing board to entertain us. I feel fortunate that we weren’t distracted by technology. Our television got three stations, and if we were lucky, a few UHF channels.
When I was in high school, I had the opportunity, with my best friend, to study art with Sr. Vincent de Paul. We went to lessons for close to three years, mostly in the landscape, and it was her guidance that led us to art school in Boston. Sister wanted us to have a strong foundation drawing year and sent us to the school she felt had that.
I have always thought of her guidance as divine intervention. She sent me on a path that has been my life’s journey. I have had the opportunity to sustain my studio practice, to learn and teach, and now to work in my studio full-time. For me, creating is like breathing—a part of me that I can harness to ground, to elevate, to heal, to teach, to learn, to share. Like breathing, not doing it is not an option.
What connects your work together, and what keeps you creating?
My work is directly related to what is happening in my life and always has been. There is a narrative thread to my work. My work is abstract, but there are moments in the work that are deeply personal and yet also universal. I work intuitively, actively listening to the work, responding to the marks, and letting the image come forth. In this process, I am able to process what is going on in my life and in the world. Marks, shapes, colors, and images that appear add meaning to my work and help to tell my story.
Color palettes and compositions reflect my deep roots in New England. Dividing my time between Massachusetts and Maine, coast and lake, influences my marks, shapes, and spaces, as did attending art school in the late 1970s. My current work is informed by formal elements—the picture plane, movement, and mark-making—combined with a love of experimenting with materials, the unique qualities of paint, and balancing differences. Incorporating lace and lace patterns speaks to nurturing and the relationship between conceal and reveal. These components are my parts of speech, my language in the materials.
I left teaching for a full-time studio practice. I am so fortunate to be able to do the work that I love full-time. I love learning from those who are ahead of me on this journey, and I am able to push myself to grow as an artist and to share that journey with others. I keep creating because it is what I do in my life and who I am.
Describe your work using three words.
Contemplative, Narrative, Vibrant.
What are you most proud of as an artist, whether it's a specific moment or who you are as an artist?
I am proud of the fact that I have continued to follow my passion and stay true to who I am as an artist, all the while continuing to grow. I loved my time teaching and learning from some amazing students. However, most importantly, I am proud of the fact that I can use my voice to advocate for others. For the past 9 ½ years, I have used my art to advocate for and raise funds for ALS. My dear friend’s son was diagnosed at age 25 and lost his battle this past June at 34. I was able to use my work and my voice to take action and give voice to words he could no longer speak. I felt I was rolling his thoughts and words around in paint and letting them lead the way to paintings that resonate with a sense of strength, hope, perseverance, and life. From fundraisers to large-scale paintings and custom Birkenstocks, I have worked tirelessly to spread the word about Bobby’s story and the beast of a disease that ALS is. Even though Bobby has been freed from this beast, I will continue to use my art to make a difference and help those who can find a cure.
If you could be in a two-person exhibition with any artist from history, who would it be and why?
It would be an incredible dream to be in a two-person show with Maud Morgan.
I happened to go to an opening of her exhibit in Duxbury, Maud in the ’90s. I had no idea who she was at the time. As a matter of fact, I happened to be there for an opening of a group show that my dear friend and mentor Barbara Donnelly was in. I can remember walking into Maud's show and being mesmerized by the work—the color, the shapes, and the strength of the work. I was particularly taken by a self-portrait showing her putting on a sweater. I believe it was called “The Sweater is Finished.” She saw me looking at the painting, caught my eye, and made her way over to introduce herself. I asked her about the painting. I learned that she started that sweater when expecting her daughter. The moment she finished it and put it on, she knew she had to celebrate that act in a painting because, by the time she finished it, her daughter was in her 40s! At the time, I was also a young mother, a full-time student, a full-time teacher, and a bookkeeper, juggling all the hats, trying to keep up with my family, work, and studio practice. I could relate to that story in so many ways. Her joy in painting that poignant moment showed me how painting can be so personal yet universal and powerful.
Not long after, I was asked to write a paper pretending I had interviewed a famous artist. I took the opportunity to contact Maud. I wrote her a letter asking for an interview. Imagine my surprise when my phone rang, and it was Maud! She had read my letter, and even though she was very protective of her time, she was moved by my letter and told me I could visit her at her home/studio in Cambridge. She was living on the first floor, and the workers were adding a ramp to her studio so she could get out there with her walker to work. She had just finished collages for her latest show. She told me that, for the first time, when she walked into a show of her work, she didn’t want to take everything down and redo it. She made me ginger tea and scones, spoke candidly with me, and looked at my work. She showed me that a full life takes chances, stays true, and continuously grows—a moment so special, I will never forget.
How could I possibly imagine showing my work alongside hers? I would stay true to those moments I am most proud of: continue to do work that expresses my authentic self, celebrating the moments in life that are epic and ordinary, and showing continued growth.
