Why I Paint Flowers

For many years, I didn’t paint flowers. We lived in San Francisco, and my paintings reflected the glamorous, stimulating world swirling around me. From time to time, a flower demanded to be painted, but for the most part I ignored the call (or simply didn’t hear it).  

For centuries, women painted flowers because they were some of the acceptable subjects for “ladies” to paint. Many museum works by women of the 17th-19th centuries are of flowers in vases. I think that subconsciously, I didn’t want my work to be relegated to the “polite lady painter” club. 

But then we moved from San Francisco to Carmel-by-the-Sea, a coastal village several hours south of San Francisco. The thrilling bustle of the city was replaced by morning ocean mists, twisting cypresses, enchanted cottage gardens and flowers EVERYWHERE.  

In San Francisco, the flowers asked me to paint them in whispers. But here, in our village by the sea, their voices became a grand chorus of beauty. I made my first flower painting here in 2016 and it transformed my art practice and my life.  

Now I spend my days in the company of flowers — gathering them, photographing them for references, writing about them in my art journals and painting them. They are symbols of beauty, yes, but they are also messengers. They will tell us stories about the power of quiet, of strength within seeming fragility, of hope, grace, resilience and renewal. They can be our teachers and transform our lives, if we will only listen. 

If you are ever nearby, get in touch by email and stop by my studio for a cup of tea. There are always flowers coming to life on the easel, and we can chat about flowers, art and life. 

Aspire, Oil on Linen, 24 x 36 in | 61 x 91 cm

Mornings at La Mirada, Oil on Linen, 47 x 54.5 in | 119 x 138 cm