I've got a bouquet of flowers in my kitchen at present. Each day I've watched the respective blooms of this arrangement subtly transform from furtive, half-opened buds, to ebullient blossoms, to weathered but intriguing remnants. It's a microcosm of the life cycle itself, and an important reminder to enjoy the sensuous beauty of everyday existence. No wonder artists have loved painting bouquets, whether it's the Dutch masters of the 17th century, or Henriette Wyeth.
Memento mori connotations aside, moreover, who doesn't like looking at pretty flowers?
I sketched a portion of this bouquet last week. Lilies and roses were also part of the arrangement, but here I concentrated on the carnations, with their magenta-rimmed white petals. I could see this becoming a nice hand-colored etching, something along the lines of the great Bertha E. Jacques, but as always, who knows when I'll get around to it.
In the meantime, go out and enjoy some flowers for yourselves!
Memento mori connotations aside, moreover, who doesn't like looking at pretty flowers?
I sketched a portion of this bouquet last week. Lilies and roses were also part of the arrangement, but here I concentrated on the carnations, with their magenta-rimmed white petals. I could see this becoming a nice hand-colored etching, something along the lines of the great Bertha E. Jacques, but as always, who knows when I'll get around to it.
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