Mahalia Poppies Crowding Vase (oil on canvas, 25 X 20)
There’s a spectacular garden on a bit of land near me, a sort of floating island that’s crisscrossed by paved roads now but was once connected to greater bodies of sagebrush, trees, and river. It is the oldest building in Carmel Valley. It was the pioneer’s Grange, it was the meeting place for cowpokes and their gals and wives and children. And Jack London slept there. And now it is deserted but for flora bunda. The garden is spectacular in a way you’d have to do a disconnect somewhat from expectation of the Tuileries or English order. This garden has roamed and spread and died back and gone to seed and is on its own. It’s creator, Paul the rock sculptor and doctor died a few years back. His legacy is a powerful gift for all who live to see it. I visit and trespass and transplant Paul’s brilliant work (with his son’s permission) to my own garden. These poppies, photographed earlier on this blog, crowd with their voluptuous beauty into my glass vase, centered on my little patio and fill the air with their extraordinary perfume, their robust life, their glowing presence.
Then I painted it.