Watching

For those of you who haven't given up on me entirely, I thought I ought to check in and let you all know I'm still here!  In mid-November, we celebrtated Henry's 18th birthday, which coincided with a trip to New Haven to see Andrew, followed by a quick visit to see Dartmouth College, followed by Thanksgiving, followed by a big music event at the high school which I helped to coordinate, followed by college applications, followed by houseguests, followed by . . . let's see . . . getting ready for Christmas!  Not a lot of quiet time to paint or write!

Yet my eyes are still watching, looking, seeing beauty even as winter settles in.  The leaves are now all down and brown is the faithful, ubiquitous, solitary color that must sustain us until spring.  The landscape is dull, and one might think of it as dreary and depressing.  This balmy weather we're having isn't helping.  But I think of it differently.  Look past the browns of the earth.  Look up!  Look at nature's architecture that is only revealed in winter.  I love looking at tree branches against a sharp blue sky.  It takes my breath away to think of those massive limbs over time arranging themselves to maximize exposure to sunshine.  Grabbing their piece of the sky.  Remember in first grade when the teacher asked you to draw a tree and you drew a straight brown stick with a green ball on top?  How different it truly is in nature. Every limb describing its slow, arching, stretching movement towards the sun.

Yes, winter is static.  Quiet.  Seemingly dead.  But watch for the signs of life.  They are still all around us.  This winter I'll show you what I mean, so stay tuned!

One Leaf a Day Challenge - #9

 Well, yesterday was a bust!  Too many things going on . . . we are in the college application season, after all!  I started this yesterday, but couldn't finish it until this afternoon.  Sometimes I think it is intersting looking at something colorful that is rendered in black and white.  How well do the colors 'translate'?  Can you guess that this maple leaf is mostly dark red, with areas of lighter yellow?  The challenge in drawing this leaf with a pen is that I am trying to express several different things (contour, color and form) using only black dots.  Can you tell the difference between a shady area and a red area?  It is not that easy!  Still, it makes a nice drawing, don't you think?

One Leaf a Day Challenge - #8

Well I am barely making it under the wire here with this one.  Let's just say it took WAY longer than I thought.  Sometimes I get going in the wrong direction with a painting and then I have to backtrack and try again.  Or sometimes I just can't get my brushes to cooperate.  Or the paper is too dry or too wet.  I know I have a nice image and I know I can do it; I just have to keep going and pray that the tide will turn eventually and a beautiful thing will start to emerge.  In this case, I was using too much Indian Red, which was browning out the wonderful colors.  But I think I salvaged it.  What do you think?

One Leaf a Day Challenge - #7

Woa! This is going to take a little more time!  And a bad photo to boot.  Hang in there with me . . . this is going to be gorgeous.  Tomorrow.

One Leaf a Day Challenge - #6

So is there anything more graceful in nature than the leaf of a Japanese maple??  This is my favorite tree in the fall.  (Well, I'd have to say it might be my favorite anytime of the year.)  The colors that burst out of this tree like a flaming sunset over the Pacific are truly breathtaking.  From sun-kissed orange to deepest burgundy and everything in between.  Even in an unexceptional year, as far as color goes, this tree takes the blue ribbon.  What really sets this tree apart, though, are the shapes of the leaves.  They each have the requisite five lobes of a generic maple leaf , but the pointy fronds and curly-ques and delicate tendrils that spring from each lobe makes each leaf unique.  Standing next to this tree, trying to pick a sample for my post, I was overwhelmed with the variety.  So today I'm sharing a line drawing I did of one leaf, and perhaps tomorrow I'll chose another one to paint.  That way, you can appreciate the graceful shape and the vibrant colors of this magnificent fall specimen.

One Leaf a Day Challenge - #5

This is a redbud leaf.  It seems sort of funny to me that the redbud leaves in fall are not red, or pink, or any other reddish shade.  Of course, the tree is named for its gorgeous mauve blossoms which pop out all over the tree in spring.  This variety is called "Woodland Pansy" and is identifiable by its leaves which start out scarlet, turn maroon as they mature, then turn green as spring gives way to summer.  The Woodland Pansy redbud is a highly fashionable tree, for sure, changing her 'look' with each season!

One Leaf a Day Challenge - #4

Is this a maple leaf?  I don't even know!  I just picked it up off the ground outside the gym today.  Isn't it beautiful?  As you can see, this is only a photograph.  Where's the painting?  Sigh... I had a bit of a rough afternoon and this lovely leaf is still sitting on the drawing table waiting its turn patiently.  Sadly, our dog has taken a turn for the worse and poor ol' gal, I think she might be nearing her end.  This blog is about botanical art and not pets, though, so I won't get into the nitty gritty.  Just know I would be painting if I could, but now I need to spend time with my dear, sweet companion. 

One Leaf a Day Challenge - #3

When I took Henry to see the doctor this morning, I almost drove off the road when we rounded a bend and saw the row of ginkgo trees flanking the parking lot.  Every tree was at its peak of yellow perfection today.  That mass of solid lemon yellow, with flaming orange and red maple trees in the background, and the purple Ragged Mountains in the distance . . . Man, it's a wonder anyone gets any work done in the building, with that picture postcard view out the windows!

I have to be honest, I never really liked ginkgo trees until I began to study botanical painting.  This stems from my youth, when our next door neighbor planted several ginkgo trees near the lot line and the female trees dropped their sticky (and extremely stinky!) seed pods in our tiny city garden.  My mom, who is otherwise a law-abiding citizen, got so fed up with cleaning up the mess she climbed the fence in the dark of night and gave the trees a drink of gasoline, precipitating their demise.  Our neighbor, who knew nothing about city gardening, replaced his mysteriously dead ginkgo trees with a small stand of bamboo, which quickly shot up 30 feet and became a large stand, shading our garden entirely and thus proving the adage, crime doesn't pay.

So it wasn't until I studied plant morphology that I gained an appreciation for this often maligned tree.  Yes, it is messy, but did you know it is one of the best-known examples of a living fossil?  It has not evolved appreciably since the Pliocene era,  with fossils recognisably related to modern ginkgo dating back even further,  270 million years. This is one ancient tree!  It's leaf structure is unique among seed plants in that the veins fan out individually from the base into the leaf blade, sometimes splitting but never joining with neighboring veins to form a network. This makes it fun to paint! 

I picked this random leaf off the ground, and at the time it was almost a solid, uniform yellow.  I wasn't sure if it would make an interesting painting.  But like a banana peel, it immediately began to wither and brown, so I had to drop all activity when I got home this morning (oh darn) and sit down to paint, before it lost all its lovely yellow color.  It was a challenge to paint because it was turning color before my eyes.  After a couple of hours, I had to finally declare victory and stop recording the changing hues.  Yellow is very tricky to work with, by the way, since it can quickly and easily look muddy and overworked.  It isn't one of those colors you can layer endlessly with shades and gradations.  I think I caught myself just in the nick of time.  Enjoy!

One Leaf a Day Challenge - #2

Euonymous.  The ubiquitous landscaping shrub everyone around here seems to have in their garden.  When we moved here, I knew next to nothing about gardening, and had the hardest time remembering the names of everything as people would walk around our property telling us what was growing here.  But for some reason, 'Euonymous' stuck.  Whenever someone would ask me what some shrub was, I'd more often than not say, "I'm not totally sure, but I think its Euonymous," and sound so knowledgeable.  It became a sort of joke.  Then I learned the common name, 'Burning Bush,' which didn't stick with me until our first fall, when our hedge of Euonymous seemed to literally catch fire.  The upper leaves turn first, to a burning hot pinkish red.  Finally the whole hedge becomes one huge mass of solid flaming color.  It is increadible!  We're about half way there as of today:

One Leaf a Day Challenge -- #1

Fall has been happening for weeks now but I am finally getting around to acknowledging the fact.  I want to celebrate the fabulous colors of the season by drawing or painting one leaf a day for the next ten days! As far as leaf-peeping goes, some years are more colorful than others and this year we are having a more muted show.  I love it just the same.  All those yummy, earthy tones all mixed together in subtle ways.  It reminds me of our years in Japan, where fall color is refined and understated, much like her people.

We live in a forest here in Charlottesville, so this time of year is especially beautiful as each deciduous tree changes color day by day.  Just outside our kitchen window is a stand of dogwood trees.  They are among the first trees to turn.  Never brilliant, never showy, but always a gorgeously rich shade of burgundy.  I never knew this until I started paying close attention, but the leaves that turn first are the ones most exposed to sunlight.  This makes sense -- they'd be the first to have their summer pigment supply used up as they catch the last rays of sunshine.  Or something to that effect.  I sort of forget my biology.  With the dogwood, the shaded leaves get "suntan lines" from the leaves above them.  Wherever they remain shaded, the leaf is perfectly green, and where they see a bit of sun they "tan", beginning their color transformation.   So you get leaves like the one above, with areas of intense green and darker reds, all on the same leaf.  Eventually, however, all of the leaves fade to a uniform burgundy, before drying up entirely and dropping to the ground.

I drew this with colored pencils on double-frosted mylar.  The smooth surface of the mylar is wonderful to draw on -- it accepts layers of color very nicely and the pencil just slides right along.  But the best thing is, you can erase it if you make a mistake!  Colored pencil on paper doesn't behave nearly as well.  Enjoy!

Happy Happy Halloween

Today was one of those days that didn't go at all as I had imagined. This was The Plan, more or less:

• go to lab for blood tests for physical next week (my half century check-up!)
• workout
• talk to friend Janet (in Canada) while carving pumpkin
• talk to Peter (on business trip in Switzerland)
• sit down and draw for two hours
• grocery shop
• prepare for Trick-or-treat-ers
• enjoy evening with Henry and any visiting goblins

But then this is what actually happened:
It started out fine. I went to the lab. Went to the gym. Talked to Janet. Got half way through carving pumpkin. Then picked up a phone message from my doctor who called while I was talking to Janet (Will someone please show me how to do Call Waiting?) Doc's message says, "Hi Holly. Gee we got some test results from your labwork this morning that are really not good . . . " It went downhill from there. "I need you to go directly to the emergency room . . . " What?! Excuse me?! Something about platelette count nearing a dangerous level. I went all weak at the knees. I put down the carving knife -- very carefully. I called my doctor.

Indeed, my platelette count was 13,000, according to the lab test. It should be at least 150,000. He described three very serious things that could be wrong with me, but also said it is possible that the test results are false. Still, GET TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM. Ok! I'll go!

When one is suddenly confronted with one's own mortality smack in the middle of an ordinary day and for no apparent reason whatsoever, one enters a sort of state of shock. I actually feel fit as a fiddle but suddenly I'm contemplating every cough or sniffle or bump or scrape -- is it a sign? Does low platelette count feel like anything? And what do I take to the hospital? If the test is accurate they're going to admit me. I pack my computer. I grab my book. I pack a peanutbutter sandwich. I take Ginger on a quick walk. Oh this is surreal, walking my dog while who knows what is or is not floating around in my bloodstream.

Quick phone calls and emails to various family members. Now everyone is upset, momentarily. I get to the emergency room, and wait in line behind the fifteen-year-old girl in labor. They check me in stat but I feel pretty silly occupying a bed when I really feel like sitting in a chair. The nurses and doctor are puzzled, too. They can't find anything wrong with me. Not one thing. And so I wait to get another blood test. Nervous? Not nervous? I try to remain calm and distract myself by reading my book. My sweet husband calls and sends reassuring texts from Switzerland. The poor man next to me is deaf and dumb and is having a very bad reaction to a flu vaccine (don't even get me started on this one!). The poor man across the way is in a lot of pain for some reason, but not cooperating with the nurses. I sit quietly in my little bed and wait.

Finally the doctor returns with the blessed news that I am really really fine. My count is 243,000. Perfect. Air escapes from my lungs in a huge, relaxed wave. The world stops spinning and all I want to do is to get out of there and go home and hug my family. I sign papers, change out of that stupid gown, escape to the parking garage, and head home. I stop by the university so I can hug Katie. I hug Henry when I get home. I hug Ginger. I hug the phone when Peter calls. Life is good.

I can finish carving the pumpkin after all. I can enjoy the Trick-or-treaters. Henry's friends come over for dinner and thank goodness there's plenty of spaghetti to go around. We talk. We laugh. It is all so normal it makes the afternoon seem like a bad dream with a happy ending. The boys spontaneously decide to start a music blog, and ask me to quickly draw artwork for the logo, the thumbs-up fist bump, above. Well that seems appropriate!

It isn't the pretty fall leaf I was planning to draw. It wasn't the day I was planning to have. But thank the good Lord I get to have another ordinary day tomorrow. I'll draw my pretty leaf then.

Quercus alba 'Autumn'

Now that I've finished my oak leaf painting, it is time for the administrivia . . . How and where shall I sign it?  Should I inscribe it with the latin name?  When I frame it, should it be matted in the usual way, or should I mount it on top of the mat board, to show the deckled edge of the paper?  So many little decisions to make!  And to further complicate matters, this painting is the last of three in a series, as I mentioned way back at the beginning.  I already completed 'Autumn' and 'Winter' several years ago.  So I think I'm going to frame them all together, in one big wide frame.  I think this will be effective, but it has ramifications as to how I sign each one.  (It might be tedious to see Quercus alba three times in a row, or not?) It is times like this when it would be helpful to have a teacher looking over my shoulder!  So while I'm noodling over all the many possibilities, I'll show you how 'Autumn' turned out:

Finished?

So this is the most difficult decision one has to face when making a painting.  Is it done yet?  I suppose it is easier to know when you have finished a botanical illustration compared to, say, an abstract painting.  But still, how do you know you have nailed it?  Ann Marie Evans, whose 5-step process I follow when making a painting, says there is technically speaking a 6th step, which she calls "Messing About," in her very Brittish accent.  I really try hard not to mess about too much.  I find I get myself into a muddy mess if I fool with a painting for too long. 

The goal is to paint until you have captured the essence of your subject, as faithfully as you can, and stop yourself just moments before it becomes 'overworked'.  The only way to learn this moment is through trial and error, I have found.  When I'm at the end of a painting, I start to get obsessed with perfection.  I can't "see" the whole because I am too far down in the details.  This is when I know it is time to stop.  I put down my brushes.  I take a big step back and see if I am ready to say it is done.  I let the paper dry.  Then, the next day, I sign it.  I have a little deal with myself that once I sign a painting, I don't mess with it anymore.  That's it.

So today, I put down the brushes on my Quercus alba.  I think it is done.  What do you think?  The only thing remaining to do is clean up the few smudges and dripped paint on my white background.  I'll show you that next time.  Until then, enjoy!

Old Man Tree

Taking a break from my white oak, I thought I'd share a pen and ink sketch I made recently of one of my favorite trees on the planet, Old Man Tree.  This tree is growing on an island in Georgian Bay, Ontario, where our dearest friends have a cottage.  We have been visiting their island for ten years now, and every time we go I thrill to the sight of this tree, standing tall and proud on a rocky promontory overlooking the water.  It is gnarled and bent from years of assault from the wind and weather. No telling how old this tree is, for the harsh climate stunts the growth of everything that dares to try and survive on the rocks with minimal soil and no protection. 

I love the stark beauty of this environment.  I love the massive slabs of dramatically striped granite, which could tell the full story of the Canadian Shield, if only I understood the language of geography.  I love the moss and lichen, eking out their existence on the rocks and adding to the drama with their vibrant color.  I love the sound of the water slapping the shore.  And I love Old Man Tree, the quiet sentinel, reminding me to slow down, breathe deeply, and against all adversity, feel safely rooted to the Earth.

Here's a photo to give you a sense of the drama that is Georgian Bay, and a slightly different angle of Old Man Tree, which really shows his lean . . . Enjoy!



How to sharpen the edges

Now I'm going to let you in on a little secret of the trade.  Take a look at this leaf I'm pointing to with the pencil:

I need to make the edge of the leaf look as sharp and clear as I possibly can, so the image will jump off the page.  Can you see a faint dark green line which follows the edges around the bottom of the leaf and ends right where I put my pencil?  I take one of my smallest brushes, a size 00, and paint a really fine line using Chromium Oxide Green.  This pigment is a grayish green, and is one of the most opaque watercolor pigments (really cloudy, in other words).  It will hide a multitude of painting transgressions.  Right after I paint the edge, I try to blend the 'leaf' side of the line in with the adjacent green color.  But the outside edge I leave alone.

Now sit back and view this leaf from more of a distance.  Can you tell a difference in bottom half of the leaf, which I have worked on, and the top half (above the pencil) which I still have yet to do?  Isn't that cool?  And from even more of a distance, as you would normally view the painting, it really is effective.  I don't have the steadiest hand in the world, so my edges tend not to be naturally sharp and crisp.  (Does this say something about my personality?)  So when a teacher of mine shared this secret, it transformed my paintings. 

Oh and yes, I will soon put some legs on my ladybug!

Slowly making progress . . .

I have the start of a busy school year to blame for my lack of blog posts lately.  I am a mom, after all :)  Getting back to business, I am working now on refining all of the details of the painting.  I'm deep into Stage 5, trying to make everything look crisp and clean.  Let me see if I can show you what I mean.  Scroll down to the bottom of my last posting and take a look at those acorns.  See if you can tell what I've done since then:

It is difficult to zoom in close and keep the details with this software, but can you see that with some transparent washes of brown, I've given the acorn fruit more shape? And by going in with dark reddish brown I've made the grooves in the acorn tops more distinct.  The effect is to make them "pop" off the page, and seem very lifelike.

By the way, do you have any idea just how many acorns one white oak tree can produce?  And what happens to all those acorns anyway?  Do the squirrels get every last one?  A study was done not long ago of one mature tree, which produced a whopping 15,000 acorns in one season.  That's enough seeds to start an entire forrest!  But of that number, 83% were eaten by squirrels and other animals; 6% were attacked by insects, weevils and larvae; and nearly all the rest were naturally imperfect.  Less than 1% of that initial number actually sprouted, and of those few survivors, half died as sprouts.  Imagine the energy expended to produce that paltry result!  And yet think of all of the Life that tree sustains and supports in the process: the birds and beasties and bugs and life we can't even see with the naked eye.  The next time you see a sappling, congratulate it for beating the odds!

I'll leave you with a quote, in Latin no less, which sums up my admiration for this mighty tree:
De minimus maxima.
No translation needed.

Quercus alba - stage five

It is true, folks, the devil is in the details.  You can look at my painting now and say, "Wow, pretty good!"  But I'm not after "pretty good."  I want you to look at my painting and say, "Man, that's beautiful!!"  There's only one way to get from 'pretty good' to 'beautiful', and that is the Details.  I've come this far . . . why stop now?  This stage is actually really fun.  I get to pull out more Nifty Studio Tools which I've shown below. 

The first thing is, I need to be able to look very closely and critically at all the edges and make sure they are crisp and clean as a whistle.  To do this, I need my trusty magnifiers.  When I've got these on, I pray nobody comes to the door and I forget to take them off.  They are frightful!  But effective.

Next, to add all the fine details like the puckers on the acorn hats and the legs on my ladybug, I need tee-weeny brushes.  I have size 000 and 0000 to do the job.  It is these details that delight a veiwer when he or she is standing with their nose to the painting and really scrutinizing it.  I always like to give them some nice reward for their careful attention to the details; and my miniscule brushes to the trick.

Finally, I have to deal with the mistakes.  I'll talk more about this later, but thankfully there is a way to have a 'do over' in botanical painting.  It involves the razor blade and a burnisher, and I'll show you how that works shortly.  And now, if you'll excuse me, back to my painting!

Quercus alba - stage four

Now we are getting to my favorite part of the whole process.  The finishing touches.  This stage is called 'Harmony and Interchange'.  Doesn't that just sound pretty?  In nature, there are bridges of color that connect the leaf, stem, flower and berry of the same plant.  What I mean is, you'd never see a pure red berry stuck on a straight brown stem next to a flat green leaf.  If you look closely, you will see tinges of green in that red berry, and the red color somehow carried through the stem and leaf.  It is very subtle, but it is there, and it makes the plant look, well, like it all goes together.  Harmony and interchange -- it is exactly what it sounds like.  You take a light wash of your stem color, for example, and repeat it through the leaf or nut or seed.  If there is a bold seed or flower color, you subtly refer to it in the leaf or stem.  This is to exaggerate the interchange of color, but to the eye, it will make the subject look more natural.  Here in our Quercus alba, I have repeated the apple green of the acorns in the stem and veining of the leaves, for example.  There are touches of reddish brown in the stems and acorns.  There is even a very light wash of the green leaf color over the stem.  The overall effect is very nice -- it looks fresh and bold and alive, just as it would waving in the breeze on a clear summer's day. 

One brush stroke

Can you see it?  Can you tell what is different in the second picture? Now I'm at a really fun stage of the painting.  I'm messing around adding details details details.  I've been away from the painting for a few weeks, so I am starting back in carefully.  I worked on the veining in the leaves and -- did you see it? -- I added the shaddow under the ladybug.  So now she's standing on the leaf, not hovering above it.  Later I might even add a suggestion of her legs! 

It is hard jumping back in after taking time away.  I have to reconnect with the picture and remember what my vision is.  I am proceeding cautiously to avoid making any blunders with too heavy a hand while I am still reaquainting myself with my subject.  I really don't like to stop work on a piece once I've begun it, but life has a way of throwing curveballs every now and then and we have to adapt. 

And this curveball was a big one.  My mother-in-law had been in declining health for a long time, and we were all prepared - or at least we thought we were - for her passing.  But even a natural, peaceful death after a long and happy life is a shocking and sad thing to those left behind.   I am not sad for her . . . I am sad for us, to have to march forward now without her star in our living family constellation.  I will miss her!  If you are interested, I am posting a tribute that I wrote shortly after she died.  It is in the 'Musings - on other stuff' section.  Onward!

Pausing for Jane

Hello friends. I just wanted to let you know why I'm taking a brief break from my blog. Last Thursday, Jane (my mother in law) passed away and we've had a week of family here preparing for the funeral today. It was beautiful, if such a sad occasion can be called beautiful. I have more to say about sweet Jane, which I'll post later. I feel like a wrung out sponge right now, however, so I'll sign off. Happier drawing and painting days ahead. Yay!

Tweaking the Color

I have been working on unifying the leaves in my painting.  That is to say, taking a step back and scrutinizing what color needs to be added where to make the leaves look like they are growing from the same stem.  At this stage, I am moving all over the painting, working with one color at a time over all the leaves, rather than focusing attention on one leaf and applying many colors.  This way, the painting builds cohesion.  The composition starts to assert itself.  I will eventually go back again to each leaf and work on minute details, but right now it is important to get the whole thing looking realistic and convincing.  I am working loosely (well, as loose as you can go with a size 0 brush!) and quickly, and often stopping and stepping back to see if it reads correctly.  Now, finally, I don't really mind if someone peers over my shoulder... I am starting to feel good about what's happening on the page. 

I have made a scan of a part of the painting up close, so you can see more of what is going on.  If the resolution were better, you'd be able to see my brush strokes.  They are always in the direction of growth.  This is a cardinal rule . . . What would happen if the phone rang, and I left a green streak across the leaf?  Zebra stripes, that's what!  Enjoy!



Quercus alba - stage three

Now I am at the third stage of painting my oak leaf branch.  It is called the Overlap Stage.  This is the time to make sure the leaf reads correctly in three dimensions.  Where one leaf overlaps another, I must make sure that the underlying leaf is darker.  I work all over the painting at this point, continuing to develop the color of the leaves and beginning to add definition, such as veining.  It might be hard to tell what has changed since my last post, but trust me, paint is going on the paper!  Enjoy!

Quercus alba update

In case you thought I'd abandoned my project, here is evidence that I am still working bit by bit on my oak leaves.  I've about finished the "form stage", getting all the basic shapes and colors down for the whole composition.  Do you notice that the leaf I'm working on, which is the leaf in the foreground, is a lighter green than the leaves behind it?  This is a little trick that will help the viewer establish the three dimentionality of this branch.  Mimicking the way our eyes see things, I'll make sure the things in the foreground will have a yellow cast, the mid-range objects will have a red cast, and the things in the background will have a blue cast.  In the finished piece, it won't be nearly this obvious, because many more layers of color and more detail will be added, so I though I'd point this out to you now while you can clearly see it.

By the way, the teeny blob of red paint on this leaf is not a mistake. . . it will be a ladybug!  More on that later.  Enjoy!

I'm back!

Oops!  I forgot to mention that we'd be going away for a beach holiday... and as it turned out, there was no Internet access where we were staying.  This was an absolutely wonderful thing for my family, to be unplugged and unscheduled for so long.  However I realize that my trusty blog followers must have wondered what happened to me!  I'm back now and raring to go...

Consider the two drawings I did this past week:

The first, a quick sketch at the beach, proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am not terribly gifted at depicting landscapes.  But you get the general gist of the environment, and you may be able to guess that it really was a lovely, uncrowded, sunny beach that stretched on forever and inspired us to do essentially nothing but worship the sun for a week.

The second took much longer, and I am more pleased with the result.  The light source was a bit ambiguous, so the shadows are not perfect, but other than that I like it.  Ah, the friendly starfish.  Creeping slowly along on its little nobby arms (or legs?) bothering no one, except the coral it eats.  I love the bumpy, ridged texture of its body, which serves to camouflage and protect.  The bumps and ridges create wonderful shadows and are actually easy to draw by stippling with a pen. Enjoy!

Happy Birthday Andrew!

Andrew's favorite flower is the lily, and as this is his birthday, I thought I'd draw him one.  He loves tiger lilies... orange and loud and happy.  This is a pure white lily with larger, more voluptuous petals and leaves.  The lily plant family is primative, evolutionarily speaking.  It has simple leaves with parallel veining, all arranged opposite one another and the pairs are whorled around the stem.  if you look from the top down the stem, it looks like a spiral staircase, which is a nifty way for each leaf to get its own share of sunlight.

The flower of the lily is monoecious, meaning it has all of the sexual parts needed for pollination to occur.  Technically, it has three petals and three sepals that look alike and are arranged in a laterally symmetrical fashion, so it is called zygomorphic (bet you didn't know you were going to get a plant morphology lecture today!) The female part, the pistil, consists of a long style with a stigma at the end, covered with a sticky substance to catch the pollen.  It sits above the six stamen, the male parts.  On top of each stamen, a pod-shaped anther loaded with pollen is attached in the center, allowing it to rock in the breeze like a see-saw.  (Or spill indellible pollen onto your tablecloth if you forgot to remove it before you put the flowers in the vase!)  Lilies are fragrant, which is why I love to plant them along a walkway in our garden.  They are a welcome burst of lovliness in July, when other flowers start to fade away.  Enjoy, Andrew!  This bud's for you!!

Transparency

I want to say a little more about transparency.  Transparency versus Mud.  When you mix too many colors together, or when you mix colors that are not of the same 'temperature' (cool or warm), you get Mud.  It isn't a particular color and it isn't a particular thickness of paint.  But you know it when you see it.  The pigment just sits there dead as can be in a blob on your paper.  No depth, no brilliance, no light, no life.  If you are painting an object that isn't living, you may not mind this effect.  But to a botanical artist, this is a Bad Situation. 

What you want is Transparency.  A few thin washes of compatible colors, and voila!  It is like spontaneous generation right there on your paper.  The thing you are painting comes to life before your very eyes.  What happens is those thin transparent layers just lay on top of the paper, and mingle a little with the paper's 'tooth' (surface texture).  Light can still pass through the pigment.  To me it looks like the subtle texture of the paper actually becomes part of the painting, like the surface of a leaf.  It is almost creepy to see a lifelike leaf start to emerge from the paper.  I think of Michelangelo, who said his role as a sculptor is to release the sculpture from the block of stone it's trapped in.  So I'm uncovering a beautiful oak branch, trapped inside the white paper!  This is what happens to my mind as I sit for hours staring at my painting....

Green

I really do love the color green.  Depending on the shade, it can be refreshing, calming, healing, expansive . . .alive! In watercolor painting, the trick of mixing a good green is to use colors with the same 'temperature', meaning you use either all cool colors or all warm colors, not some of both.  If you mix a warm yellow with a cool blue, the outcome will be muddy.  And muddy color can be a disaster, because part of the magic of watercolor is the transparency, allowing the white of the paper to shine through.

These oak leaves are a very cool, bluish green.  So my leaf formula is veridian green (a dark, cool green) mixed with a tiny bit of indian red (which is more brown than red), and to add brightness, a bit of cool lemon yellow.  Later I'll paint shaddows and dark areas with a wash of permanent rose mixed with ultramarine blue.  Another cardinal rule of color mixing is not to use too many different colors.  You keep it as simple as you can to avoid the dreaded Mud Situation.  So I have to watch it . . . sometimes I get carried away!

Some artists get their desired colors by applying very thin washes of color straight from the tubes.  A blue wash over a yellow wash will look green, for example.  You have to be really patient and meticulous, keeping your brush clean and waiting until each layer dries before applying the next layer.  You also have to have an exceptional knowledge of color theory because you are mixing your colors essentially right on your painting -- risky business if you ask me!  As you can see from my palette, I mix my colors first on the paint tray, often testing them on spare strips of paper before I apply paint to the painting.  It gives me more of a sense that I'm in control of the situation.

I'm still working on the form of the leaves.  They don't yet look alive, but they do look like leaves!  so far I am pleased with how it is coming along...

Form

And now we arrive at the second stage: Form.  It is the easiest to describe but it takes the longest to do.  Basically, I paint the form of each leaf (and acorn) showing the the lights and darks, giving the subject three dimensions.  In botanical work, the light source is always from the upper left, as if the sun is shining on the subject over the artist's left shoulder.   To me, this stage is nerve-wracking.  I am constantly nervous that I'll mess up.  It isn't until I get the form right for every element of the painting that I will relax and enjoy the remaining three stages of work. 

You may think this leaf doesn't look very natural, and you are right.  The veins are too pronounced and the color is too monotone.  It looks like a plastic leaf, in my opinion.  But just you wait!  Once we work on the veins and the subtleties of shading, it will look like a real live oak leaf.  This is all I'm going to do on this leaf for now.  Time to bring the other leaves up to this stage...

My favorite oak tree quote

There are two ways of getting to the top of an oak tree . . .
one is to climb,
the other is to sit on an acorn
and wait.

Haycorns

My kids, when they were small, called acorns 'haycorns' thanks to Winnie the Pooh, which I thought was delightful.  I keep this in mind as I begin to paint them.  When looking at the Whole Painting, and wondering where to start, I find the best approach is to begin painting the thing that is the most difficult or important.  Just get it done so it isn't hanging over me in a worrying sort of way.  Since the acorns in this painting are really the focal point, and also quite tricky, I'll begin here.  I won't paint them completely, just the basic form and shape and the first few layers of color.  Just enough to squelch the fear that I can't do it, but not too much to affect the balance of the painting.  It is important to try to build the whole painting in stages, rather than finish every little square inch as you go along.  I'll talk more about this later.  For now, enjoy the haycorns, as they take shape on the paper!

Moving right along . . .

I just finished the tea wash stage and thought you'd like to take a peek.  Tough to make out everything, but that is the point.  It is just enough pigment so I can tell what is 'leaf' and what is 'not leaf' as I go back in to paint the form of my subject. 

Happy Father's Day!!

This one's for my dad, who loves his trees.  There's an enormous Magnolia Grandifolia just next to their house which is now flowering.  Big, soft, creamy white blossoms against that sharp, shiny dark green.  The flower blooms so fleetingly - just for a day - and gives off such a heady perfume.  I wanted to capture the moment before it had passed.   Take notice before it is gone.  Enjoy!

The Tea Wash

The first year I studied botanical art I took a class from Anne Marie Evans, a famous Brittish artist and pioneer in the field of botanical art education.  She developed a 5-step method for botanical watercolor painting,  which I still follow, more or less.  The first stage is called the Tea Stage.  You carefully eliminate your guidelines and lay down a very faint wash of color blocking out the entire composition.  The color you choose is taken from the lightest hue in the object you are painting.  But you dilute the paint in so much water that the result looks as if you were painting with tea.  This is fun and fast and satisfying, a nice way to begin.  I'm using a lemon yellow wash on everything but the stem.  When I get there, I think I'll use Indian red.  So sorry you can't really make out much with this scan.  In real life it isn't this invisible, thankfully.  Stay tuned!  Very visible green is just around the corner!

Ready to paint

Although you can't see it, I now have a fully detailed sketch on my watercolor paper, and I am ready for the first layer of paint.  The pencil lines are so faint even I can hardly see them, but this is intentional.  They only serve as guides for the first wash of color.  And when I lay down that wash, I will first erase the lines completely, one teeny section at a time.  This is so that in the end, there will be no traces of the graphite, which is such an essential tool in getting it 'right' but would be a distraction in the finished painting. 

Onward!

Studio Tricks

When you looked at my finished drawing of the oak branch, done on tracing paper, did you wonder how I was going to reproduce that image with paint on watercolor paper?  Some artists can sit down with paintbrush in hand and set paint to paper without any guidelines.  I'm not that talented . . . I need all the references and clues and guidelines I can get!  I will now reveal to you my first nifty piece of Studio equipment . . . the light box.  What a great invention!!  I used to have to take my rough drawing, place it on a piece of carbon paper on top of the watercolor paper and 'draw' with a stylus to get a carbon image traced onto the good paper.  Aside from the mess factor, it was really difficult to see and keep track of what I had or had not drawn.  The light box changed everything.  First you tape down the drawing on the light box.  The good paper is placed over the rough drawing, and because it is backlit, the image shows through the paper.  I can easily and quickly and accurately draw the image very lightly on the good paper.  I use a very hard pencil to make a very faint line.  It is only a guide and will ultimately be erased.  But the guidelines are crucial for accuracy.  And accuracy is everything in botanical art!

The Blank Paper

I want you all to consider where I am starting . . . with a blank piece of paper.  Anyone undertaking a creative endeavor begins here, with the slate wiped clean.  A song, a painting, a lecture, a story . . . whatever it is, if it is a creative thing, it starts from nothing on the page.  Well, not nothing, exactly.  For me, it is a whisper of an idea in my imagination.  Usually I can visualize a part of it but it takes a while for the whole thing to take shape.  I sketch and play around with the composition until I get it just the way I want it, and then I am ready to begin the painting.  By this time the idea is fully formed.  Some folks are terrified of the empty whiteness of a blank page.  But for me, I get excited taking out a fresh, new stiff piece of watercolor paper, knowing how much time I'm going to spend hunched over it, transforming it.  I wonder what serendipity will happen.  What will it look like when I'm done?

Sometimes when we look at a finished painting or hear beautiful music or taste an amazing meal or read something profound, we forget that it began as nothing more than a glimmer of an idea.  Somehow the creative mind took that idea and played with it, tested it, tried it this way and that.  Perhaps many previous bad ideas were discarded along the way before this inspiration took hold. And then, by slow degrees, the creative soul executes the idea, word by word, brush stroke by brush stroke, note by note, putting one foot in front of the other, aiming for the far distant finish line.  I think it was Thomas Edison who said genius is one part inspiration and 99 parts perspiration.  He was right.  Sometimes beautiful things seem so perfect, as if they were always here, always just so, and we forget about the creative process that lovingly and patiently coaxed it into its fully formed, complete being. 

For my paintings, I use Arches 300# lb. hot press watercolor paper.   You can't tell anything from this scan, but it is stiff, with a slight 'tooth' and a beautiful feathery deckled edge.  It is a work of art just as it is!  And so with my first pencil mark, this empty paper with endless possibilities will be limited to just one, and a journey begins. 

Introducing Quercus alba

For those of you who are getting slightly annoyed that hollysdailydraw isn't exactly every day, but you keep checking up on me anyway, today you will be rewarded.  Allow me to introduce you to one of my favorite trees, Quercus alba, the mighty White oak.  I love this tree because it grows to such magnificence -- tall, sturdy, and elegant.  The pale gray bark is fissured but not too deeply.  Its large, lobed leaves wear a changing rainbow of colors through spring, summer and fall, and don't drop to the ground until the very end of winter.  And who doesn't love acorns?  Traditional uses of White oak wood include hardwood flooring, whiskey barrels and boat building.  The famouse Revolutionary War frigate, USS Constitution, "Old Ironsides", was made of White oak.  Who knew?

On our property, we have a number of White oaks, but one in particular, which is just outside my studio, is our favorite.  It is the oldest and has the most beautiful spread of branches.  Several years ago now, I promised Peter I'd paint him a series of paintings of White oak, through the seasons.  So in 2008, I successfully completed two of them (autumn and winter).  And then Life took over and I haven't returned to the project in three years.  Now is the time!  I did a completed pencil drawing back in 2008, which I'll post here.  This took hours and hours, working out the composition, studying the leaf structure and actually doing the drawing.  Now I will take you through the process of making a painting!  Don't hold your breath; it takes rediculously long!  And don't worry, I won't only post Quercus alba updates for the next two months.  I'll keep going with quick daily drawings, too.  Enjoy!

for Alice

I am creating another card for Alice the music teacher, who is also retiring at the end of this school year.  Alice not only has directed the lower school music program at our school for many many years, she has also played the piano at every school musical, every school ceremony, and every holiday program.  Can't imagine how we'll get along without her!  One thing that will always remind me of Alice is handbells.  She teaches a select group of third and fourth graders to play handbells every year, and they play with such pride and sense of accomplishment!  Not only do they learn about reading the music and the technique of ringing, they learn to care for the precious instruments.  Nobody messes with Alice's bell tables!  I love the sight of the little people, in their school vests and white gloves, standing at full attention behind the tables.  And those shiny bells do make a beautiful sound!

for Bonnie

I am creating a card for Bonnie the art teacher, who is retiring at the end of this school year.  Since she is a painter, I thought I'd draw an image of an old tube of paint.  Oh dear!  It looks like a tube of toothpaste!  I think I need to add just a dribble of paint spilling on to the table.  What do you think?

Larkspur

One of my favorite flowering plants has to be the larkspur.  The flowers unfurl along a long, sinewy stalk, which gracefully curves and bends upwards to the sun.  Each flower along the stalk opens one at a time, from the bottom of the stem to the top, so that looking at the whole, you can see the entire progression from bud (still at the top) to full bloom (at the bottom).  The colors, too, follow some sort of progression, from the palest cerulean blue at the tip, to deep, shimery blueish purple further down.  And those blossoms!  Ever look at one closely?  It reminds me of a snapdragon, but more angular.  The inner petals curve in on themselves and enclose the stamen, all loaded with bright yellow pollen. Any bumble bee or butterfly that gets trapped in there looking for nectar is going to get a pollen shower, like it or not! At the back of the bloom, a long, green spur juts out, in true larkspur fashion.  It is surprisingly stiff and rubbery.  I suppose it serves some reproductive function, but I think it makes the flower so balanced and beautiful.  The delphinium (it's scientific name) is a relative of the buttercup but is very toxic. 'Delphinium' comes from the Latin word for dolphin, alluding to the shape of the opening flower... isn't that cool?

Azalea -- final drawing

Finally I finished it!  As time drags on in a lengthy drawing, I sometimes wonder why bother?  Why do I spend so much time trying to capture the likeness of something that is so perfect and so beautiful?  My version of it won't come anything close to God's version!  Well I wouldn't get very far if I let this thought stick around for very long.  All I have to do is look at the spent specimen when I'm done and I realize my drawing is an homage, an offering of sorts.  Gratitude that this little blossom graced the earth for a few days and made a beautiful spot of color in the landscape.  It is gone now, preserved only in memory.  And in my small drawing.  Is it enough to hold us over until next spring when the azaleas bloom again?

You are invited...

to come see my garden!  These pictures don't begin to do justice (probably because I took them at about 8:00 p.m.!).  We are having a fabulous spring in the garden, thanks to the good Lord sending plenty of rain and cool days.  We are now in The Pinks.  Spring in my garden always begins with the yellows of the daffodils and forsythia and witch hazel; then moves on to the psychedelic phase, which I've mentioned before and is blessedly brief; and then we get to The Pinks.  Pink peonies, pink roses, pink rhododendron and late azaleas.  All fragrant and feminine.  My favorite time of spring! 

I know I should be in my studio, hunched over my drawing table in hushed concentration, but with this heady, glorious, heavenly Symphony in Pink happening outside, how can I keep indoors?  Soon it will be over, and I'll begin the annual battle with the Japanese beetles and the voles and the slugs and the deer.  But right this minute, it is sublime.  If you're so inclined, do stop by and take a look this week.  Seriously!  And I'll leave the clippers on the back porch, in case you want to snip some peonies to take home . . . A bounty like this should be shared!