Notes about life, people, places, politics, writing ...
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
Painting the Modern Garden
The blushing pink on petals close to white of climbing roses entwined among the trees the play of light and shade and form I think I sense the faint smell of decay from leaves heaped up and rotting on the soil I lift my head and swear I taste the breeze and hear the distant notes of a piano
Such is the power of paintings of gardens full of vast flowerbeds rioting colour and subtle change of tone the shapes of leaves and petals the fruits of long physical labour with spade and soil or brush and pigment
canvas fixed on walls like windows where we spy the artists’ friends, lovers, children and dogs among the plants or sometimes absent, as the place speaks its own language, draws us in a while to a world which feels more real than ours