"Peonies in Bloom is not a painting of one bouquet; it's a portrait of many, all culminated into one painting."
As these words were tapped out for my next Instagram post, they brought me pause.
I didn't realize that is exactly how I felt about my newest work until this moment, and it felt a little ironic for the words to leave me so easily.
Painting florals is still new for me. I'm slow to produce those works specifically, and you could say it's in that patience where I will truly learn what I need to know, but I'm an impatient artist.
At least at this point in my life, I've built up the habit of painting, drawing, sketching, and creating quickly. My worst habit, which I've only just gotten over, was abandoning a project after not completing it (yes, start to finish) in a single session.
And it's with that overcome behavior I know I'll be able to improve to the point of easily forgetting this season of struggle, but sometimes it's hard to see that growth without wild, eye-catching change.
They say improvement comes in quantity, not focusing so much on perfecting quality. Yet there I was this whole time, learning to capture an ever-transitioning subject as a still image, and I convinced myself I was not improving or progressing at all; I felt stuck.
The peonies. Every day, they were changing. But I wouldn't notice it unless I had incremental documentation on my canvas. So I started by running, chasing, fruitlessly, to paint what I saw. But inevitably, it would be different the next day, and the next.
I was hardly making a painting at this point, just rushing to follow what was in front of me, now learning there was a small window before a dreaded "too late".
After days of sitting and studying the blooms, I reached an eventual conclusion. I had to choose what I wanted to paint; there was no relying on what was outside of me. After all, painting is a way of documenting my own perception of the world.
So I stopped chasing, looked back, and painted what I remembered. I would return to the aging bouquet for reference or clarification, but the work finally left the foundational stage and entered the refining stage.
Eventually, I reached this project's conclusion. And it would be days later that I would realize what it actually was for me:
"... A portrait of many, all culminated into one painting."
More than one session of practice. More than one bouquet. One long, slowly blossoming, transitional lesson.
I should say, I was a bit frustrated when I recognized the line I wrote for my social media caption follows the notorious formatting of ChatGPT's writing voice, AKA, "It's not A, it's B, and that's [adjective, adjective, adjective—take your pick]."
But I knew it came from me, and encapsulated the subconscious progression I had made through this artwork, so I felt it was important to share it.
That's also why I wanted to reflect on it here—this blog is another method of documentation of my journey, just from a solely written perspective.
I really love what this painting has come to mean for me. It feels cliché to say, but it's its own journey. Who knew what a group of 10 peonies would mean for my ever-developing skills as an artist?
And to know I was able to involve each flower, at every stage of their life, into one portrait of this process as a whole, is a satisfying conclusion to reach.
Thank you for your time once again, reader. I'll see you next week.
— M.E.
P.S.
For the record, I was using em dashes long before ChatGPT came along, and I refuse to give them up.