If you had told me
that I would be a flower painter,
in oils, no less
while I was in college I would have laughed at you.
Of course, I loved flowers,
but I was living life in the fast lane:
classes, work, a son to raise.
No time to smell the flowers,
let alone paint them.
But I was once rescued from a fall from a window
by a lilac bush
and I have owed something
to flowers ever since.
I lived in the Southwest for many years.
Water and flowers are a precious commodity out there.
I began to yearn for a garden,
and the smell of lilacs.
I built a fine garden on my patio
full of scented jasmine,
rosemary,
a few snapdragons.
Then I moved to the Midwest.
More rain,
more flowers.
An amazing amount flowers!
Even the trees had flowers.
They beckoned and begged.
I planted roses and poppies,
I planned for hydrangea and lilacs.
And then for some sad reason,
I could no longer have a garden.
Something else was planned for my space
and my heart broke.
In the mean time, I re-discovered the light and color of oil painting.
A bit more gutsy than watercolor,
more luminescent than acrylics.
I was in love.
I began to paint flowers.
The flowers I could not have.
I am painting my garden,
stealth gardening on a windowsill.
Joyfully planting all those wonderful colors and shapes
borrowed from the gardens of friends.
Discovering new to me blossoms
in garden shops and florists.
I have an entire library on gardens.
My life dream is to visit the ultimate artist's garden,
Giverny in France.
A dream I am pressing very hard to come true.
to stand in the space of another artist
who was in love with
paint and flowers,
to reach through time and say hello,
I love you.
JOY.
Visit my garden here.
