Memorial...

In Their Prime   oil/canvas   16 x 20

My grandma Daisy didn't have much as far as material wealth, but she had a most amazing flower garden, the pride of which were the peonies.  When I visited as a young adult, I would always return home with a bunch of the fragrant lovelies, carried in coffee cans until they could be put into a vase.  My own patio is edged with a peony row that were started from hers and each year, we comment on the timing of the blooming as it relates to the holiday.  My mother, now 84, still visits each family grave site during the weekend.  She brings her clippers and lovingly clips the grass around each one, sweeps it clean with a brush and fills the urns with these peonies which she, too, carries in a coffee can.  Time to remember.  Time to breathe in the beauty.

This year the peonies were early.

Seasonal...

In Their Prime   oil/canvas   16 x 20

My life, as well as my art, is cyclical. The smells, sights, light and sounds of each season influence what I paint and how the work is approached. For the past two weeks, our miniature lilacs have perfumed my studio. Outside on the patio, a hedgerow of peonies has grown so rapidly that we swear we could see them gain several inches in a day. I have painted that grouping several times. These beautiful blooms were given to me by my maternal grandmother Daisy Street. That legacy makes them all the sweeter. Peonies teach us patience as the blooming proceeds ever-so-s-l-o-w-l-y aided by the black ants who eat the wax off of the tightly formed bloom heads. This weekend which is Memorial weekend, several blooms are fully open. My note to myself is to appreciate their beauty and their fragrance in the short time that they are in full bloom. All too soon the petals will be scattered across the brickwork, and their influence only a memory.