I'm often engaged by the interplay of opposites, in this case between summer and winter, between life and death. The differences are perhaps more conceptual than visual, at least in the early stages of subtle interactions. There’s a story, a stance, for me in seeing buds and blossoms in the same field of view as flowers past their prime.
Is it fair to say that flowers are easy for art-makers? Easy in the sense that they are improbably beautiful in virtually every way – what is left for the artist beyond capturing their likeness? Over the year, I have resisted that impulse. I fancy that I look more deeply into the life cycle and look for beauty in the decay as well as the glory of blooms.
Perhaps this began as a personal idiosyncrasy. But over the years, I have found I love the decay, the mess, the confusion as much or more than the refined beauty of the blossoms. I’ll acknowledge that it suits my temperament, yes. But there’s a deeper learning here for me: the more I’ve looked at the mess of decay, the more I’ve found subtle textures and colors to rival the more conventional presentations. Another reminder to me to keep eyes and mind open…
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