Wildflowers #4 | Paris Field
I’m imagining — hoping there is a field near Paris or on a rooftop that resembles this painting. This is all watercolor and was painted with a eyelash brush (never worked for me but works for flicking paint to make stalks) and Q-Tips. Fun experiment. Lots of that going on this month.
Oh, and by the way, my friend Lené Gary in Vermont (another snowy place) found this prose poem she wrote for others in snow right now—wildflower buds buried below. Thanks Lené!
Ear to Ground
“To hear the waltz of a bluet, the trill of a lily, the piping rupture of a wake robin in its potential maroon, requires the ear of a flowering heart to catch life limber (underground) months before the first of June. Today is a day I heard them. Goldthreads with their fairied flutes, clintonia with their drums, blue-eyed grass, I knew them well, by their high-pitched hum. Mud nearly rumbled. You’d think it was the frogs. The world is dancing beneath this frosty hue. To bloom, just listen (put your ear right here).” ~ Lené Gary
She’s quite the talent!