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My father Don Ricks, was the son of an Idaho turkey farmer. He always dreamed of becoming an artist, but he chose to stay in a small Southeast Idaho town to raise his seven children, four boys and three girls. He became a sign painter and we all worked in that business as we grew. When my dad was forty, he met Sergei Bongart who had immigrated (escaped) from Kiev Ukraine after World War Two. That meeting changed everything.

My dad and all three of my brothers became professional artists. I was the youngest and was the least interested in art. At seventeen, I started a picture frame company which later became known as Allman-Ricks Master Frame Makers. When I was forty, a chain of events, including the September Eleventh attacks, moved me to follow in the tradition of my artist saturated family. Up until that time, I was constantly seeking new and more elaborate projects. I had a restlessness that I was unable to satisfy. The effect of that restlessness was impacting my business in a negative way. Painting was my solution and I always feel at home and at peace when I’m in front of my easel. 

I’ve thought a lot about nature or nurture as to how an artist is made. I’m sure that there must be something shared between family members as well as the observation of what goes into making a work of art. Opinions about what makes or breaks a painting were formed during conversations at meal time and other random discussions. I also imagine that there is some sort of spiritual fraternity between artists both living and deceased.

1 product found in Marty Ricks

Oh How Lovely was the Morning
Oh How Lovely was the Morning
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