The Myriad Forms of Flowers

Centaurea montana

I often marvel at the complexity of some flowers, such as this Centaurea, with its petals finely divided at their ends, and interiors of spidery black and violet.

Columbine

Or of this columbine, growing wild in the back yard, with its numerous petals overlapping each other, each a small curved trumpet. When I see forms like these I wonder about the evolutionary reasons for them, and for all the variations in flower form; after all, their reason for being is reproduction. Then I think about how boring humans are in comparison, with our sameness of from and just tiny variations in color, size, and shape. But of course...humans are only one species, homo sapiens, in the animal kingdom. There are about 5500 mammal species. But the number of species of flowering plants is 250,000-400,000! no wonder that they are so varied.

Salvia

Some flowers grow in spikes, made of of many flowers. In the case of Salvia, the individual flowers are  small.

Dictamnus alba

The Dictamnus flowers are quite showy, so each spike is dramatic, and lovely from a distance.

Baptisia

Baptisia is in the legume family, so its flowers, on long showy spikes in a shrub-like plant, have a resemblance to pea flowers.

Siberian Iris "Summer Skies"

There are many flowers that grow one or two or three to a stem, such as irises, with their lovely arrangement of spreading and upright petals. Words used to describe the parts of the iris flower: standard, crest, fall.

Korean Lilac "Miss Kim"

Many flowering shrubs––lilacs, hydrangea, viburnum––have composite blooms made up of many small florets. This shrub, the last lilac to bloom in my garden, has delicate fragrant flowers that open up at their rounded ends like so many bugles announcing the day.

Meadow flower, a variety of Hawkweed?

The flower head with rays of petals in a circle is so familiar to us from dandelions.

Wild Rose

Snowdrop Anemone

Then there are flowers that are elegant in their simplicity, several petals surrounding the center of stamen and pistils. 

Jack in the Pulpit

All the flowers above are in my yard, but this amazing wildflower, the Jack in the Pulpit, was alongside the path in the woods. The "Jack" sticking up at its center is actually a spadix, with tiny flowers at its base, and the curved form above is a spathe, a leaf-like bract. So in this plant, the actual flowers are hidden from view. The world of flowers, so varied even in this tiny corner of Vermont, is wonderful to contemplate.

A New Painting: "Untitled (Crimson/Light Green)"

Untitled (Crimson, Light Green), egg tempera on calfskin parchment, 9 x 8 in.

I believe that I'm beginning to understand what I want to do with the series of "cloth" paintings I've been working on. For one, I think that I might begin to call them my "organic" paintings, and the machine based images "geometric" paintings; it keeps the categorization more in the realm of the abstract. What I've realized is that I want to keep the images simple. At first I added other elements to the organic forms––a sphere, a rectangular solid, a cylinder––but now want just the folds. Before doing the study for this painting, I had tried using three colors, with two of them having folds. I thought it would be terrific, but instead it nearly drove me to give up the entire project. So I calmed down and did more studies, this time with just two colors, one background and one folded color. The image is close to this painting, and similar in its simple elements to this painting. 

Untitled (Crimson, Light Green) detail

Painting the curving forms is very engaging, getting a sense of the tactile is extremely satisfying, as my brush creates the illusion of fullness and of light playing over the turning surfaces. Not long ago I wrote a blog post on cloth in Medieval painting and sculpture, which you can read here. Cloth can be expressive, and as it's associated with the body, can have emotional resonance. 

This new painting is somewhat larger at 9 x 8 inches than my other works. I've been slowly making this body of paintings on parchment a bit larger; when I started they were around 4 to 6 inches, and now they are closer to 6 by 8. An inch at this small size makes a big difference. So here's a photo of recent work on a wall in the studio. I love the fun of the organic paintings alongside the illusionistic textile (which has outsized visual power alongside the paintings); they are all flat, but all are asking to be seen as three dimensional.

At the Met: The Eloquence of Hands

Rogier van der Weyden, Francesco d'Este, ca. 1460; oil on wood, 12 1/2 x 8 3/4 in.

See the entire painting here.

During a recent visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art  I began to look at the gestures of hands, seeing how their movement and what they held expressed feelings and told a story, sometimes more eloquently than the face portrayed. In the examples I found, mainly of Netherlandish painting, the hands are sensitively rendered, and a secondary focus of the composition. In the portrait of Francesco d'Este, a son of a ruling family, van der Weyden placed one hand resting on another that is balanced on the edge of the picture. He is holding a ring and a hammer, which may be either symbols of power or jousting prizes.

Lorenzo di Credi, Portrait of a Young Woman, ca. 1490-1500; oil on wood, 23 1/8 x 15 3/4 in.

See the entire painting here

The young woman in di Credi's portrait is also holding a ring, but for a very different purpose. Her hands are crossed, as in a pledge, and the ring could, as the catalog entry says, have "connubial significance", which is how I read it. An interesting piece of information at the Met's entry for this painting is that it wasn't until the mid 15th century that Florentine portraits of women were other than in profile and bust length. So earlier paintings would not have included the expressive hands.

Attributed to Hans Memling, Young Woman with a Pink, ca. 1485-1490; oil on wood, 17 x 7 3/8 in.

See the entire painting here.

Here the hand is holding a flower delicately aloft, framed by the space between dress and arm. A pink was a symbol of betrothal.

Gerard David, The Annunciation, 1506; oil on wood, 31 1/8 x 25 in.

See the entire painting here.

A hand is held aloft, one finger pointing skyward, as the angel announces the coming birth of Jesus.

Hans Memling, The Annunciation, 1465-75; oil on wood, 73 1/4 x 45 1/4 in.

See the entire painting here.

Mary, in another painting, accepts the greeting with what seems to be uncertainty in the gesture of her hand, as though to say "wait". In the book of Luke, it says of the moment "she was troubled at his saying".

North Netherlandish Painter, Christ Bearing the Cross, ca. 1470; oil on wood, 42 3/8 x 32 3/8 in.

See the entire painting here. 

Sometimes several hands make a symphony of movement, a flow from one to another, as clear as the spoken word. This painting celebrates an annual procession in Bruges, honoring the city's most sacred relic, a cloth stained with a drop of Christ's blood. The cloth is here being held carefully in two hands, and one is touched gently by Christ as an acknowledgment, his other hand holding the cross, while a soldier's hand behind holds a rod. This is one painting where the faces are individual and quite extraordinary, so see them at the link above.

Gerard David, The Crucifixion, ca. 1495; oil on wood, 21 x 15 in.

See the entire painting here.

The hands are prayerful and sorrowful, enhancing the facial expressions.

Gerard David, Christ Taking Leave of His Mother, ca. 1500; oil on wood, 6 1/8 x 4 3/4 in.

See the entire painting here.

There is a beautiful arrangement of hands at the center of this small painting, forming a curved circle of prayer, sadness, and leave taking, echoing the circle of heads.

Greek Attic, Marble stele (grave marker) of a woman, ca. 375-350 B.C.; marble, height 54 in. 

See the entire sculpture here. 

For the final image, we go back in time and into three dimensions for a simple and touching gentle clasping of hands. It is a subtle, yet deeply moving, small gesture of love and loss. Much of what we know of the world comes through our hands, we use them to supplement speech, or to speak if we have no voice. Some hand signals are widely known (think of the time-out signal and others in sports); a crooked finger moving toward the body is a clear "come here"; a baby learns bye-bye very early. So in art, we can pay attention to the pictured hands.

A New Textile: "Blue/Green Angles"

Blue/Green Angles, hand dyed wool on linen; 4 pieces, each 8 x 8 in. 

It's wonderful when an art work opens a path to another, ideas flowing like water from one fountain basin to another. After finishing my last textile piece, Sixteen Circles (which you can see here), I wanted to continue using the quality of low relief that comes from cutting some of the loops of wool. At the same time I wanted to do a simple composition. While thinking about this project, I had also been thinking about new cardboard prints, also simple. I did a series of studies of one shape floating on an 8 x8 inch square, with the lines of cardboard as background. That got me thinking about doing a mult-panel piece. I don't know where the idea of angled lines came from, but my first sketch had two lines, some intersecting. I was more attracted to the sketch close to this final result: two straight lines angled across the plane, and two angled lines leading to a point, arranged to move the eye from one to another. 

As for color, in order to unify the four part piece, I used two colors of my Cushing acid dyes––Bright Green and Copenhagen Blue––and mixed different amounts of the colors for each panel. For the first, I used mostly green with a little bit of blue added.

For the second panel I mixed more blue with the green, keeping the green predominant.

That flipped with the third panel, in which the blue took a stronger part.

And finally, the blue with just a bit of green added. In this way I tried to keep the work unified although of different colors. A work of simple elements, yet adding up to something a little more complex.

The Flowering Shrubs of June

Bridal Wreath Spirea

June is a time of glories in my garden, but before the peonies start blooming, and just as irises are opening, some of the shrubs around the property, wild and cultivated, are blooming. This spirea is a mass of white against a dark sky. It was the gift of a friend, the painter Gwen Fabricant, and is now, after many years, a large and beautiful specimen.

Nannyberry, Viburnum lentago

Dramatic in a different way, this Nannyberry that I planted as a stick almost 20 years ago, is enormous and spreading. It is a plant native to the area and seems very happy in its spot alongside the barn.

Nannyberry flower

In early June it is covered in white flowerheads, a compound mass of tiny flowers.

Snowball Viburnum opulus flower

The Snowball is a shrub that is rather gangly, but has large groups of round white flowers, hanging softly and lovely to see from my office window as I work.

Honeysuckle Arnold Red

A haze of pink brightens the still mostly green flower border in the backyard.

Japanese Barberry, Berberis thunbergii

A number of barberry shrubs were scattered about along the back stone wall when I moved in here years ago. It was introduced in the 19th century and has become an invasive plant. I pull up seedlings wherever I see them, and really should have someone come and cut them down.

Barberry flowers

But the flowers are pretty, dangling like small chandeliers from spiny stems, and they are sweetly scented. The plants later have bright red berries and the leaves turn to red in Fall.

American Cranberry, Viburnum trilobum

I planted this viburnum, along with the Snowball, behind my house 20 years ago. I also had a White ash planted for shade. When I moved here there was no shade and the backyard was quite austere; now, with the tree grown (I hope I never get the ash borer) and the shrubs large and leafy, the backyard is quite a cozy place to sit on a warm summer's day. I posted this rather nondescript photo because it shows a bit of the well cover: that green metal surface on the lower left. My water supply comes from a dug well, thirteen feet deep, still lined with the old stones from when it was originally dug.

American Cranberry flowers

The flowers of the American cranberry are complex like that of other viburnums. Here, contrary to expectation, the outer fully petaled flowers are sterile while the inside ones, which will open to tiny flowers, are fertile. I enjoy having these sturdy plants in the garden, carefree, and blooming freely.

Four New Drawings

#17, egg tempera and graphite on hand toned paper, 15 x 15 in.

A great pleasure for me in working on these drawings is in letting color fly free, detached from representation, as in my paintings on parchment. My first step is choosing colors for toning the paper; then I decide on which design among my studies will work best with that color, and then which colors to use. I had just bought a new pigment, Alizarin Crimson, so of course wanted to use it right away for the paper. I was surprised that mixed with a little Titanium white, it had an almost coral color, a warm pink, not the cool one I was expecting. Since green is the complement of red, the large hexagon is green. The circle, now appearing to be floating under a thin veil of green, was originally going to be a yellow circle on top of it. As I worked, the idea of the circle being submerged seemed much more expressive.

#18, egg tempera and graphite on hand toned paper, 15 x 15 in.

I prepared two sheets of paper in dark tonalities, two in mid tones. With this dark sienna pigment, like the earth it comes from, I chose colors related to landscape, a blue and a green, both mixed in less saturated hues so that they wouldn't bounce off the paper. As I work, I decide whether the color should be opaque or translucent, allowing some of the underlying drawing to show through. I have written about how these drawings, based on Islamic design, often feel uncanny to me, as though I'm not making the decisions, but that they are coming from a hidden source. I still feel that way from time to time, although I have gotten more used to their forms and demands. Sometimes a design asks to be opaquely painted, and sometimes thinly painted.

#19, egg tempera and graphite on hand toned paper, 15 x 15 in.

Yellow triangles, on a surface of blue-green, are translucent enough to allow a faint trace of drawing to show through. The arcs soften the severity of the forceful triangles, four within one.

#20, egg tempera and graphite on hand toned paper, 15 x 15 in.

A midnight blue holds within it rich colors, with a group of shapes that seem to me to be a female essence or symbol. The shapes in these images somehow add up to more than just formal abstractions, though through an agency not my own.

Balance and Tension: Richard Serra and Others

Richard Serra, 5:30, 1969; lead, four plates each 48 x 48 x 3/4, pole: 84 in. 

Serra images courtesy of David Zwirner Gallery.

A fascinating show of Richard Serra's early work at David Zwirner Gallery showed the beginnings of his interest in precarious balance. It also reminded me of his flirtation with danger, in the use of lead in plates and thin sheets rolled into poles. Using very simple elements––flat plates and round poles––he created sculpture with dramatic presence.

Richard Serra, Equal (Corner Prop Piece), 1969-70; lead, plate: 48 x 48 x 3/4, pole: 4 3/8 x 84 1/4 in.

Each of these works is held, temporarily, by its elements and sometimes by the wall. The points of contact therefore seem full of tension, as the keeping together can easily come apart. These "prop" sculptures do something new in their reliance on one form holding up another, oh so carefully. 

Richard Serra, One Ton Prop (House of Cards), 1969; lead, four plates each 48 x 48 x 1 in.

To use heavy lead plates as one would flimsy playing cards reminds us of the uncertainty of such a balancing act.

Richard Serra, V + 5: To Michael Heizer, 1969; lead, four plates, each 48 x 48 x 3/4 in, pole 7 ft.

Another configuration using the same elements as 5:30 above, but even more tense as the pole stretches across the piece, seeming to barely hang on to the outer plates.

Richard Serra, Strike: To Roberta and Rudy, 1969-71; hot rolled steel, 97 x 288 x 1 1/2 in. 

This piece looks forward to future work in its material, now steel rather than lead, and in its large size. In the way it is held by the corner, it is also a precursor to Serra's large tilted steel plate pieces, that a viewer often felt were about to fall over. This tension and sense of danger famously escalated in the case of Tilted Arc, a large piece in a public plaza, where workers felt annoyed and threatened by the work cutting across the broad open space. My own feelings about Serra's work have gone from anger towards it to great admiration, which I write about in this blog post. Seeing these older works got me thinking about how many artists have used elements of balance and tension in their work––they've been important to me also in composing a work––elements that Serra pushed to the extreme.

Rogier Van der Weyden, The Descent from the Cross, ca. 1435; oil on oak panel, 86 1/2 x 103 in. 

(see high resolution image here)

When I think about pictorial tension, this brilliant painting always comes to mind: the figures are compressed into a tight space, with the two outer ones pushing physically against the bounds of the frame.

Chardin, Basket of Peaches, 1768; oil on canvas, 12.6 x 15.4 in. 

(see high resolution image here)

Still life painting seems to me to be a balancing act, finding a perfect arrangement of shapes that pull and push against each other. When there is a knife hanging off the table, the balance becomes literal, though Chardin is likely trying to heighten an illusion: a form entering the viewer's space while breaking the picture plane.

Kazimir Malevich, Suprematism (Self Portrait in Two Dimensions), 1915, oil on canvas, 

31 1/2 x 24 3/8 in.

Shapes tilt and spill and hover in this Malevich painting, all coming to a balance and held by the black square at bottom.

Giorgio Morandi, Still Life, 1964; oil on canvas, 10 x 12 in. 

Morandi is supremely aware of the tension between his objects as they huddle together. He creates a balance of shape and line that belies volume while expressing it. 

Ellsworth Kelly drawing. 

In this Kelly drawing, you see him adjusting edges so that the black shapes touch them just so, while the upper shape barely touches the lower, at one tense point. In a way much less physical and intense than Serra, these artists and many others are working with similar concepts: arranging forms to play off each other, playing with balance, imbalance, and tension, which brings a deeper feeling and meaning to the work.