The sunflowers looked so beautiful, they emitted power. I was eager to paint them, but soon discovered it was a more challenging task then expected. When I tried adding shading to the petals, they lost the brilliance of color. So I added more yellow, then shaded with bright orange. At the end I added some dark shading in dry brush.
I like how the background looks watery, a little like a silk scarf, and the stem of the sunflower on the table melts into it. I think I captured something of those flowers strength.
Putting on some stimulating music, pick up a pencil, and just let go! Feel the exhilaration, and reach for the clouds. Fill the jar with clean water, wet the brush, and start painting. Try to give a sense of lightness and flow, and just feel the wind blowing.
I then looked through the photos on my computer, and found this one I had taken in the winter on Mount Hermon. It clicked, it fit! Using photoshop, I overlayed the Snow Goddess onto Mount Hermon.
I look at it now and feel her power. She is light and weightless, and she reaches the heavens. Her very weightlessness gives her strength, and using the forces of nature for her own pleasure, she almost controls them.
All of the religious teachings and philosophies I have encountered so far warn against anger. But such a bad thing has its benefits.
Being annoyed is bad and is dangerous, and it can create great harm. Anger is a strong emotion with a lot of energy behind it, and this energy wants to come out into action and create harm (for example smashing things). But this strong flow of energy is powerful, and can be directed into good things. Channeling anger into creativity and work has great benefits. It releases the energy into something that does not harm anyone. Also, holding anger inside and swallowing it can be harmful, so using this flow of energy for creative pursuits can be healthy, as it purges toxic emotions. And if circumstances already cause such strong emotions, these emotions can be considered as a gift, as it provides the energy to create great things.
When such emotions grip me, I pick up a pen, or whatever is nearby, and, without thinking, start drawing. My hands move quickly, and I don’t think. It is like something possesses me, using my hands with confidence. My discomfort is poured into the paper, so by the time the drawing is finished, there is no anger left. When I m cool, I look at the paper with curiosity, to see what was produced.
It was about four years ago that my mother had given me a pot of pansies. There is nothing left of them now, they must have died a long time ago, and I can barely remember them. But last week I browsed through old photos, and found some snapshots I had taken of these flowers. Memories came flooding back, and I was sitting in my room, an undergraduate student, struggling to do homework or study for an exam. I was younger then, and with different concerns then today, and I whiled some time away playing with the flowers my mother had given me, capturing their fleeting beauty, and capturing the feelings of that time.
I wanted to paint this flower softly, to have it blend into the background. I did not want those hard edges that form when a puddle of watercolor dries. This paining was to be soft and gentle, like from out of a distant memory. I looked at the photo, and could see different washes diffusing into each other. It was a perfect subject for watercolor.
I started with lots of water, soaking the paper. With fast strokes I lay down the first layer, letting the washes bleed into each other, soaking wet. I had to work fast, and there was no time to think. My hands worked on their own, directed by the flow of water.
I liked the way the under wash looked. It was all very soft. Next step was to add to it more character, and make the bright colored plant come out of the dark mists of memory.
The paining is dry, but it still looks as though it is wet. I like its softness and the vibrancy of the colors – it was a vibrant plant.
I was walking one afternoon from the University to the shopping mall. It is a pleasant walk of about half an hour, leading through quiet streets of private homes. Coming around the corner that leads to the main street with all the traffic and noise, this rose caught my attention. It stood there, between the peaceful neighborhood and the busy hurry life. It was so exquisite, with its soft petals opened to receive the best of both worlds. The rose open, stretching its head out from among its leaves, seems ever so receptive, yearning for more.