An abandoned sculpture, alone in an overgrown garden, stands. Broken and beautiful, she watches over the chaotic blossoms, apart and a part of the riotous tapestry.
Many hours went into sketching (and erasing and re-sketching) these blooms. But how lovely was the process. Often, I hesitated to add color- waiting for the flowers to tell me how they felt, what hue felt right. I love it when a painting speaks to me and reveals itself. The time and the energy spent drawing and painting is a whole relationship; an exchange that truly never ends and a connection that remains etched somewhere inside.
