Showing posts with label natural science illustration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label natural science illustration. Show all posts

Sunday, 17 May 2015

In praise of the Daisy

“The flower doesn’t dream of the bee. It blossoms and the bee comes.”
Mark Nepo

  I have always loved daisies, Bellis perennis . There’s just something so bright, cheerful and positively defiant about them. So I jumped at the chance to do a small painting of daisies for a friend. To me, nothing sings of summer more than the sight of daisies on the lawn. It makes me want to kick off my shoes, sit on the grass and make daisy chains. 
As A.A. Milne said, 
“Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them.”

I've potted up some little daisies and put them in my garden. The bees love them and so do I.
The Latin name for daisy is Bellis perennis meaning "everlasting prettiness".
The word “Daisy” is thought to come from it’s earlier Saxon name “Day’s Eye”, which is probably  because every evening at sunset the daisy closes it’s petals over it’s golden centre, and unfurls them at dawn the following day, as if opening it’s eye. 
We still refer to someone who has had a good night’s sleep as appearing as “fresh as a daisy”.

My desk with the daisy pots. They actually have quite a sweet perfume. I smiled to see that even on a rainy day, their flowers follow the sun.
In fact the little daisy has been given many names throughout history, my favourite being the old Welsh name of “Trembling Star”. 
It has long been considered a medicinal plant and featured in many of the early herbals. 

First the bee, and then the flower. The shapes are all drawn in very roughly.
It was also called Woundwort or Bruisewort because of it’s healing qualities. The Romans were said to carry bags of fresh daisies into battle, so that the wounded could be treated with bandages that had been soaked with the juice of the flowers. The Crusaders too valued it’s healing powers for pain relief, bruising and broken bones. It is sometimes referred to as Poor Man’s Arnica, and used externally to heal bruises and trauma.

The flowers are slowly appearing.
In fact the medicinal properties of the daisy are many. Henry VIII was said to have chewed on the leaves and flowers of daisies in order to relieve his stomach ulcers. Chewing the young leaves of daisies is also said to be a remedy for mouth ulcers. Both the leaves and flowers of the plant are edible and can be used in salads and soups. There are mixed reports as to the flavour, but the younger leaves are reported to have a less astringent taste. The flowers have a mild taste but are certainly a pretty addition to any dish.

The flowers are done, so  now I start to pick out the negative shapes between the leaves with shadow colours of blues, purples and greys.

One of the best ways to get the health benefits of daisies is to make a tea from the leaves. Daisy tea is said to aid digestion and strengthen the metabolism. It is also said to clear catarrh and soothe coughs. Simply pour boiling water over a handful of daisies and leave to infuse. Strain and serve.


As soon as I start to add the warmer colours of the leaves, it comes to life. The leaves grow in basal rosettes, so I tried to show this... not easy when there are just so many leaves!
I really enjoyed painting the daisies.  As they are an important bee food, I decided to include a White tailed Bumblebee, Bombus lucorum enjoying the daisy nectar. The flowers were fairly straightforward to paint, but the leaves were quite a different matter. They grow in clumps, a seemingly confusing tangle of hairy spoon shaped leaves. It took me a while to figure out just where to begin. I started by picking out the negative shapes in a grey wash of cerulean and cobalt violet with a touch of light red, before painting the leaves with a mix of indanthrene and transparent yellow. Rather than fuss over every leaf, I kept it fairly loose and painterly.

© Shevaun Doherty 2015
 “Daisies of the world unite - you have nothing to lose but your chains”
~Anon

It was nice to have the opportunity to study this little plant closely. The little daisy is so easy to overlook, to dismiss it as a weed, but it has a lot going for it. If anything you have to admire it’s tenacity and it’s ability to pick itself back up after each run-in with the lawnmower.

Said the other little daisy, “I am very well content
To live simply in the meadow where the sun and rain are sent;
Where the bees all gather sweetness, and the dew falls on my head,
And the radiance of the moonlight is all around me shed.
The grass and clover blossoms admire my beauty all day long,
As I listen to the music of a bird’s delightful song”
“Two Little Daisies” (The other little daisy wished to be a rose)

Sunday, 18 January 2015

The Sensitivity of Things - Mono no Aware 物の哀れ


Painting can be a journey of the mind. 

I have been contemplating the transience of life as I painted the little dead snipe this week. 
I came across a beautiful Japanese phrase Mono no Aware  物の哀れ (moh-no no ah-wah-ray), which roughly translates  as “the sensitivity of things”.
It refers to an awareness of the fragility of existence, an appreciation for it’s beauty and the gentle sadness of it’s passing.

Looking closely at a life that has passed
The term was coined in the 18th century by the Japanese literary scholar Motoori Norinaga to describe the essence of Japanese culture, but it remains popular as a concept in Japanese culture even today. An example of Mono no Aware would be the Japanese love of the cherry blossom. Every year crowds of people go out to sit beneath and admire the cascades of snowy blossoms, poignantly aware that these blooms will only last a week. Similarly a snowy landscape, the waning moon, the plaintive call of geese, even the ripples on the water of a lake can also evoke feeling of Mono no Aware.

Mono no aware is about the transience and bittersweet nature of life.






My snipe painting is also an example of Mono no Aware. I considered painting the snipe as if he were still alive, but decided that even death has it’s own quiet beauty, and so I chose honesty instead.
 Far from being morbid subject, it felt like such a rare honour to be able to study the beautiful patterns, colours and structure so intimately. The only thing that I recreated was the eye, which had not survived the nightly freeze.


There is transience even in death, and throughout the week I noticed the subtle changes, the slow decay. I’m glad that I made the colour notes for his legs the week before because they were the first to change. By the end of the week, the snipe was no longer looking his best.

Gallinago gallinago,  watercolour on paper  © Shevaun Doherty 2015
A dead bird is not the most obviously beautiful of subjects to paint, but I wanted to capture the evocative wistfulness of the moment. The Japanese believe that beauty is not inherent in an object, but only comes to into being when it is seen and appreciated. 
I hope I evoked that beauty.

Scarlet Tiger Moth  by Claire Ward
Another beautiful object arrived at my home this week. My friend Claire Ward sent me a stunning painting of a Scarlet tiger moth on handmade paper. Her work is exquisite- have a look at her website. It seems that like me, my friends are also stirred by the beauty and precious fragility of life.


"One's feelings are stirred up because he understands, deep in his heart, the moving power of the moon and the blossoms. The heart that is ignorant of this moving power will never be stirred, no matter how wonderful the blossoms are and how clear the moon is in front of him." Motoori Norinaga (1730-1801)


Sunday, 11 January 2015

The Slow Approach


Plan like a turtle; paint like a rabbit.
Edgar A. Whitney

Sometimes starting a painting can be so daunting because there are so many aspects to think about. So I’ve become a bit of a plodder. Rather than dive in, I’ll take the slow approach and happily spend a few days just getting to know my subject first.

Flowers get pulled apart and painted petal by petal.  

Leaves are placed on the page and painted over and over again until I’ve found that perfect green mix. Just the simple pleasure of painting little squares of colour can make me feel like I’m accomplishing things.

It’s not just botanical work that is given this treatment. This week I have a dead snipe on my desk. 


A friend called me to say that she had found the poor dead creature and had kindly popped it into her freezer for me! Some of the snipes here in Ireland are winter visitors from Faroe Islands and Iceland. Never having seen a snipe in real life, I was both intrigued and excited. 
Curiosity overcame any squeamishness.