Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
While painting orange trees I came across this blood orange that had fallen on the road in front of our house and had split open. Maybe run over by one of our cars. The middle was still vibrant in its purples. The yellow brilliant. We first mistook these blood oranges for lemons until we cut them open one night to use one to make dinner.
It felt like part of a larger body of work, the orange trees, the camellia, all symbols of life and its cycle in various forms and points in the cycle. I can’t remember every word I painted on this canvas but I have a photo of the first layer of words.
“I was originally going to paint words like endurance, bruised or forgotten. But this orange is becoming a symbol of a larger narrative about what it means to live and…”
I wanted the skin to feel loose and alive, thick and protective. The background heavy with the gravity of loss. The inside intricately painted. Delicate and almost luminous in its contrast to the skin.
It still has life to give.
The skin and flesh will rot or be eaten by the insects and the seeds can give birth to new life. Another tree… or maybe they get eaten too.
8×10
oil on canvas
While painting orange trees I came across this blood orange that had fallen on the road in front of our house and had split open. Maybe run over by one of our cars. The middle was still vibrant in its purples. The yellow brilliant. We first mistook these blood oranges for lemons until we cut them open one night to use one to make dinner.
It felt like part of a larger body of work, the orange trees, the camellia, all symbols of life and its cycle in various forms and points in the cycle. I can’t remember every word I painted on this canvas but I have a photo of the first layer of words.
“I was originally going to paint words like endurance, bruised or forgotten. But this orange is becoming a symbol of a larger narrative about what it means to live and…”
I wanted the skin to feel loose and alive, thick and protective. The background heavy with the gravity of loss. The inside intricately painted. Delicate and almost luminous in its contrast to the skin.
It still has life to give.
The skin and flesh will rot or be eaten by the insects and the seeds can give birth to new life. Another tree… or maybe they get eaten too.
8×10
oil on canvas