Tag Archives: flowers

Home and away

Though parts of the world are beginning to open back up, travel is still something we’re all doing from the comfort of our armchairs right now (and besides, I am firmly in camp #StayHome for those of us who can, to help others who can’t). So lately I’ve been remembering one of my all-time favorite sketchbook subjects: doors, gates, and courtyards. And this drawing seems to sum up all three.

What I love about drawing a door, other than its own inherent aesthetic qualities, is the fact that it represents a question: what’s on the other side? Long ago I lived in Rome, a city chock full of hidden courtyards and walled gardens—though I spent a whole year wandering (and sketching) every street and back alley, I only ever got to see a fraction of what lay inside the doors that faced the street. It felt like there was a whole separate city behind those doors, and every time I was afforded a glimpse of it, I was thrilled. I’ve felt the same feeling in a few places here in the States—namely Santa Fe and New Orleans—and when I sketched the above drawing, that feeling hit me with full force again. I’ll probably never get to see the inside of this little walled garden, but that doesn’t matter: with the orange trees and bougainvillea spilling over the stucco, it’s enough to imagine the little world that lies on the other side of the door.

Fields of gold (or pink, or orange…)

Obviously I have a thing for standing in a field carpeted with flowers and busting out the ol’ watercolors—because not only does it crop up (no pun intended) again and again on this blog…

…but it’s also a recurring theme in my new book. The fun part, of course, was traveling to all these flowery places and experiencing them in person for research. The tulip fields of the Skagit Valley were well-traveled ground for me, so I was already familiar with the hybrid nature of the place: half working agricultural region, half tourist attraction.

Then there were the Flower Fields of the southern California coast: while this ranunculus haven still sells seeds and starts to gardeners, the place has become a full-on tourist trap, complete with ticketed admission and concession stands (it’s still totally worth it; the fields are stunning).

My favorite, however, were the wild California poppy fields of the Antelope Valley. Visiting this place took both planning and luck, because no tourist trap could make the valley bloom on schedule. In fact, it took me many attempts, over years’ worth of SoCal road trips, to see the poppies in person, thanks to a seven-year drought that made the delicate desert landscape inhospitable to flower blooms.

When I finally made it at the right time, under the right conditions, the experience was nothing short of magical. It made every previous, failed attempt worth the time and effort, and had me plotting future trips on the spot. It really drove home (apparently my brain churns out puns involuntarily, sorry) the fact that it’s not enough, for me, to know a place exists before I feel I can write about it. I have to experience it for myself, see it with my own eyes, and use my hands to commit it to paper with pen and paint, if at all possible. It’s an enormous privilege to be able to do this—and sharing that moment and others like it (or at least attempting to) is what creating this book was all about. I can only hope a tiny glimmer of that comes through onto the page—and that it inspires my readers to go to these places, so they can experience the real thing for themselves.

Seaside splendor

You already know that San Juan Island is perhaps my favorite place on earth, and the California poppies that grow wild at Cattle Point are just one of the many reasons why. I actually started this sketch on an earlier trip, and came back to this spot exactly one year later to finish it. And it’s a good thing I did, because after the super-wet winter we had on the West Coast, I’ve never seen quite this many poppies in bloom before. After I finished the sketch, I just sat there on the hillside for another half hour or so, not wanting to break the spell of such a perfect moment.

Hollyhock haven

While lavender will always remind me of the Pacific Northwest, I’ll forever associate hollyhocks with Santa Fe. Maybe it was being there during their peak season last summer—or maybe I love Georgia O’Keeffe too much. Either way, for me hollyhocks will always go best with adobe, rather than English cottages.

Purple haze

Here in the Northwest, we’re in the thick of my favorite season right now. I don’t mean summer, per se, but lavender season. Our climate is pretty much perfectly suited to growing lavender, so other than maybe the south of France, there’s no better place to stand on a purple hillside, awash in scent.

Fragrant fields

I love summer in the Northwest, and I love drawing stripes—so you can imagine how happy I am when the two come together perfectly. If you’re ever in this part of the world in late July or early August, head up to the Olympic Peninsula and bask in the lavender fields. Between the buzzing pollinators, the fragrant blossoms, the sunny rain-shadow climate and the mountain scenery, you’ll find yourself experiencing the best summer day anyone could ask for.