SPARHAWK oils – Flowers

Wild Iris, River Bank

White Iris, River Bank

This is a smattering of my floral oil paintings. I’ll be adding more. Some are sold, some available. If you’d like more information leave a comment, or email me: bdsparhawk@yahoo.com. I always respond.

Flower Vase, Full

       Thanks for stopping by and taking a look.

Birth of the Garden

Dragonfly

Red Tulip, Lalique Bottle

Hibiscus in the Rain

Mighty Magnolia

Lady Bugs Grazing


The Mahalia Poppy

Lady Bug Moon Dancer

Big Sur Kitchen, Rabbit Vase, Poppies, Lupine

Wild Iris Riverbank

Apple Pie Ridge Poppies

Calla Lilies and Leaf

Flower Storm with Dragonflies

Inside the Garden

Advertisements

Recent Posts

HOW COULD YOU HAVE MISSED THAT?

Angels, Dancing on Treetops

Angels Dancing on Treetops, oil painting by BD Sparhawk

 

“HOW COULD YOU HAVE MISSED THAT?”

When I get up to the Pearly Gates, if that indeed might be where I’m headed, I will walk briskly (with a sinner’s confidence) to the Saintly vision of Peter, my arms extended in my fresh unearthly joy, and the Saint, who will know me, rising, flushed of face (and seriously annoyed) will, in exasperation, ask:
“How could you have missed THAT?”

I will be stopped in my tracks.
                           “The other day…with your friend… I heard you, and I find you did not know. You did not know? We pointed!”   he will continue.

 “We placed you in front of it, we moved you there, we poked and prodded!  Why, we even cast sunbeams and danced moonbeams on it. ”   Saint Peter turns for corroboration, hands spread wide palms up for emphasis to a cherub at his side–who nods emphatically, excitedly– “We had you live beside them. See them daily. Sleep by them nightly. We had you feed the horses there, right where they were, miles of them!”.   He will stop just short of shouting:  “In a line!”

“And here again just this brief while ago, bringing you into a new place to live so you could look down your hill into your valley below and see all the beauty, all the color…..HOW can you have missed that!”

Oh dear.

All this inspired by one of my last conversations, being told by an observant girl whose young  heart swells at the sight of the woody places, streams and trees….

“I love the Sycamore for that,” she’d said to me, “you can always trace a river or streams hidden in a forest by the Sycamores growing alongside it. Look down there, see?  Now the leaves all orange and gold; you will find the river at its roots, you will always find water….beside the Sycamore.”

It was mid December, we’d had two frosts, we’d passed the shortest day.
Honestly I was shocked.  With these  truths Saint Peter addressed to me, that everything at heaven’s command had been done to put me in the path of woodland habits, and it had all indeed overwhelmed me, an emotional feast I’d never finish, and sure I’d seen every particle…. yet I had missed this most ordinary truth.
“Oh! Of course. You’re right, you’re right!”   Hot tears leapt from my eyes.   “HOW did I miss that?”

And left me wondering how much else I’ve missed. Would the heavens be an endless scold from here through eternity. Well no, no that’s not very nice, and improbable. But what ELSE have I missed.  I thought I’d seen so much.  I’d boasted to myself of all I’d seen in my long years.

But if I failed to know the Sycamore and what they mark, and  I had lived among, then…..
…..What colors have I failed to observe. What minute’s turning to me of a friendly face, a smile I abandoned too soon. What bright light from a baby’s eyes sent to me like a piercing message I must never forget — yet did not let register. What music, what delight, what pain, what love. What gentle brush of a wagging tail. What barely felt breezes stirring from the crow’s wings. The kindness of the bus driver who stopped at the patter of my running feet. The twice-warmed coffee, the special dish, the hearty greeting. The rising sun’s heroics….. from which I had driven west.
How could I have missed that.

I think we can experience everything, you know, have it all.  We have so many receptors, unused, untried, even unknown. So that walking forward with assurance that every nuance be seized, filtered in by hair and smell and dangerously opportunistic raw flesh…..open to all of it, because knowing is living.

I’ll try.

I mean to say, the thought itself  must be a poke from heaven, must it not?

Wouldn’t it be marvelous to surprise the Saints and ourselves simply by paying attention a bit more.

Happy New Year.  Here comes 2018.

 

  1. ANDY KAUFMAN’S ELVIS 2 Replies
  2. FRISKY, CHARMING MEN 2 Replies
  3. FREDERICK L. GREGORY, Granite Sculptor, R.I.P. Leave a reply
  4. RUMER GODDEN, the one and only 2 Replies
  5. CHARLOTTE, or: Girl With Apple Comments Off on CHARLOTTE, or: Girl With Apple
  6. VINCENT OF DOWNTOWN BROOKLYN 4 Replies
  7. DARK & STORMY 6 Replies
  8. “THE NEW HAT”~ Sparhawk painting 6 Replies
  9. FLYING SAUCERS OF YOSEMITE Leave a reply
  10. ROLL YR OWN TAMPAX NEAR ZERO $ Leave a reply
  11. GO FIND THE 100 YEAR OLD MAN 2 Replies
  12. MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL 1 Reply
  13. THE DEAD OF THE OAKLAND GHOST SHIP. Blood on the Hands of the Multiculturalists. 4 Replies
  14. THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING 3 Replies
  15. CHARLES, Who Lived Through Wars 8 Replies
  16. SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY Leave a reply
  17. SOBERANES FIRE~View From the Valley 2 Replies
  18. THE ART STUDIO as a WAY OF LIFE Leave a reply
  19. Central Coast Skies 3 Replies
  20. Wrong Way, Dummy! Leave a reply
  21. Only for the Brave ~ Storm Imogen Hits Cornwall 11 Replies
  22. HERON in the MEADOW, Signs of Spring 4 Replies
  23. White Dogs of Big Sur Clyde 4 Replies
  24. NEW CONTACT INFO and MERRY CHRISTMAS Leave a reply
  25. NEW PAINTING~Carmel Valley Bistro Backyard 5 Replies
  26. My Luminous Window on the World 8 Replies
  27. For Fall 6 Replies
  28. THE FINEST STORY IN THE WORLD, and the Contstant Delight of Rudyard Kipling 4 Replies
  29. SPARHAWK OILS ~~ New Paintings 2 Replies