Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Crocus Awakens, and So Do I

"Crocus Awakens"
Watercolor, acrylics, gesso

Though the crocus is just a distant memory, I am thankful I have this painting to hold onto, to remember those dainty, paper-thin beauties. I painted this image from a photograph, but was not content with the original white of the flower. Once I start applying color, something deep within me takes ahold and seems to move the brush for me. I know it's me, but yet it is not me, on some unconscious level. Splashes of gesso and acrylic, added to the watercolor base, helped to give this piece a more energetic feel. That's why I enjoy mixed media so much. Each medium I use seems to tap into a hidden emotion within myself, allowing more complete expression. I feel everything in life has an aliveness and I wanted to depict that here.

I suppose that is how I feel, more alive as the weather warms up and the days get longer. My art continues to awaken within me and I shall slumber no more. Thank you crocus, for showing how much we are alike, in our growth process.


Laura said...

Nice piece Bev, love to hear you experimenting and have fun with it. new wonders always happen that way

Doris said...

Lovely crocus! Never quite looked at one that way! Expands the mindset.

Margaret Pangert said...

Yes, unlike the tulip, a crocus will even push itself up through snow to be the earliest spring bloom. I sense your dichotomy of wanting to spring up but having reservations at the same time. Did you read Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert? She has an image of a seed being pulled from its comfy beneath-the-ground nest by its full-grown counterpart. Like somehow every living thing is programmed to push our way through, and it's already manifested by the "adult." Thanks for visiting my blog, Beverly, and your nice comments.

Margaret Pangert said...

May I indulge myself with the quote I referred to before? Thanks! "I wonder if it was me--I mean, this happy and balanced me--who pulled the other, younger, more confused and more struggling me forward during all those hard years. The younger me was the acorn full of potential, but it was the older me, the already-existent oak, who was saying the whole time: "Yes--grow! Change! Evolve! Come and meet me here, where I already exist in wholeness and maturity! I need you to grow into me!" I hope you like it, Margaret