This past week, I'd gotten my hands on some of the last May peonies of the season.
If you've been following my Instagram feed, you're intimately familiar with these flowers. I've been sharing them practically daily, so my followers are subjected to their constant opening just as I experience them in real time. But you have to understand, in a way, they are consuming my studio.
For one, they're my first live still life subject in-house. I've found a setup that works for me, and every day I have been figuring out how to paint these living, breathing blooms in constantly changing light, both of which were things I was previously incredibly hesitant to tackle.
Surely, after hundreds of years, with millions of artworks created without the comfort of an unchanging, full-spectrum light bulb, I could figure it out myself—and in some ways, I have.
This self-made shadow box has been one of my friends.
With it, I can set up a scene for my subject, with some modicum of control. I didn't follow any instructions, just fashioned it myself with tape, poster board, and questionable measuring and cutting.
And while I now have an improved setup for my still life models, my relocated paint station is struggling. The only source of light I have for painting is my window at the moment, and a lamp on the far side of my studio; I've found the other lights I have are either too dim or so bright they affect my subject's setup, which indirectly affects my painting.
Ah, well. I read something this week that has stuck with me, and I think it's very applicable here:
"A narrow river flows faster than a wide one."
Essentially, the more constraints you have, the faster things—skills, problem-solving, progress—can move along.
I believe that to be especially true in something like art, I have lived experience with it. So I'm hopeful these challenges are only leading to inevitable improvement.
But back to the peonies. Yes, they are all-consuming.
When they are off the clock, I have them sit in the main window I work next to. And when I'm elsewhere, whether I'm editing, sketching, taking videos or photos, I can't help but admire them from afar, to where they sit.
I'm sad to say we've had so much time together that I'm nose-blind to the smell they fill my studio with.
I can tell we only have so many days left before they're beyond accurately painting, so every day I make a little more progress on my project. I think I've found a healthy middle ground of chasing their blooms as they open each day, and maintaining the previous day's work so that I actually make progress towards finishing the painting.
But it is still incredibly fascinating to set up my canvas and scene and find them looking completely different, even with less than 24 hours apart.
They remind me of clouds.
Always in the background, always the shape you expect them to be, but if you attempt to manually capture what they look like through drawing or painting, it only takes a minute for them to move ahead of you.
That's all I have for now. Clearly, I still have some work to do. See you next week.
Ever flowing,
M.E.