A few months ago, Sean introduced me to the Spanish artist Sorolla, a contemporary of John Singer Sargent and a wonderful painter of light. I purchased a couple of books about his work, including the one subtitled The Painted Gardens. Sorolla captured the dappled light of his gardens so beautifully, it encouraged me to look into my own, far more modest garden for inspiration.
Then I realised that it isn’t the first time I have set up in the garden to paint. Sean and I spend as many evenings as possible sitting, watching the sun go down over the houses in Kingston. It may not be a spectacular view - there are too many ugly loft extensions for that - but the light cuts through the trees and shrubs with such drama and beauty, I am constantly hypnotised by it. How the dagger-like leaves of the towering bamboo shine with neon green against the shadows of the stems. How the acer glows a deep red, with bright pink keys shaking in the evening breeze. At at a certain point as the sun goes down, the white flowers - hibiscus, lily and fuchsia - suddenly brighten. No wonder the impressionists loved their gardens.
Having flipped through the Sorollo book, one of the things that stuck me was a photograph of his easel - right in the middle of a flower bed. All my paintings of our garden are pretty much from the same angle - our table and chairs. I need to shift things around a bit and observe the space from different angles. I’ll you know how I get on. In the meantime, here is some of the work I’ve done on the garden.
