There is to be an exhibition of flower paintings here at the retirement home starting next week. I heard about it a few days ago and hurried to convert a half finished painting into a suitable piece for the exhibition. Then I decided to paint a serious flower painting and got myself hopelessly involved. But it’s not over yet and who knows, I may still produce something suitable.
Some weeks ago I painted a picture with trees in the foreground and heavy concrete and steel towers and cranes rising behind, a sort of “Disappearing Forest” scene, something no one would like to hang over the fireplace. Yesterday I had it on my easel wondering what I could do to it make it more presentable when someone said something about the flower exhibition again. I grabbed a pot of white and painted over the original scene. This morning I sat in front of the blank canvas trying to drum a flower scene into my head.
A few minutes later, I grabbed wide brush and went to work. I worked all day. This morning I looked at it and painted it out again. The canvas is getting heavy with all the coats of paint. So I painted it out again and began something different. Then a granddaughter who knows about colors and design came over, looked at it and made a suggestion. Out it went again. I tried to follow her suggestion, but went to take a nap somewhere in the middle of the repainting exercise and missed a crucial action. Out again.
I’m working flat out now, and finally little flowers that meet my approval are appearing. It’s drying overnight and I‘ll be back at it tomorrow. Will it make the exhibition specifications? I doubt it.
