Everything in life—colours, animals, flowers—has a meaning, and often we’re unaware of it. Why some people prefer cats to dogs, or pink to purple, or perhaps why some prefer roses to orchids… it all has a meaning. Nothing is by chance.
A while ago, a Hive user posted about flowers, and in that post, the tulips stood out, or rather, they caught my eye, and some in particular called crocuses. Until then, I didn’t know what they were called, as in Argentina we call them double tulips. They are truly beautiful and come in a variety of colours, just like the single ones.
I always mention Ivo in my posts about gardening or nature; he was like a grandfather to me. He knew a great deal about plants; he was the gardener at the rose garden in the town where I used to live, and he’d been the gardener at my grandparents’ garden when they were young. We met up with him again a few years before he passed away; he was 80, but he taught me so much about plants.
When I was a child, I was passionate about roses, perhaps because they had thorns or seemed perfect. Everything has its meaning, but by the time I became an adult, I no longer liked them. Now my favourite flower or one of my favourites is the tulip: simple, delicate, unpretentious, cheerful in its colours, requiring care and love. At least that’s how it seems to me. It’s a symbol of rebirth and love, and also of affection. And my favourites are the pink tulips. Of course, I like all flowers, but I find their simplicity so beautiful.
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And when I saw that post, that person said they’d love to paint them, and I said: I’m going to paint tulips of both kinds. So last Friday, I was on a mission to find rocks, whilst strolling along the beach drinking some mate. Yes, an Argentine drinks mate anywhere.
I wanted to paint one similar to the one I’d seen in the post, a purple one. Then a red and yellow one popped into my mind, like the Spanish flag, and because the contrast is lovely; and what a coincidence that I chose the other two in shades of pink, although one of them is almost white.
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Crocuses are harder to draw because their petals aren’t smooth or regular, but I sketched them very quickly. These petals have fringed edges, giving the impression of a dress skirt, but turned inside out. And I liken the simple tulips to a ballet dancer’s costume, the skirt part, but also turned inside out. In my view, they are very feminine, delicate, elegant, and their simplicity is full of magic.
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To paint the different flowers, unlike what I usually do, I first applied the light colours—white, yellow—and in this way outlined the flower against the background, which I had already decided should be black. The flowers had to stand out against the darkness, to be light. Those who always read my work will understand.
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After the light colours, I applied red, purple or pink as appropriate, creating that striped effect between the colours, as if they were intermingling in lines. And finally, I painted the background black.
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It’s not so much about the science of painting, but rather that these ‘rocks of kindness’ aim to convey a message to everyone: one of affection, universal love, and simplicity—a message that often the most beautiful things are the simplest and most unassuming aspects of life, and that they stand out against the darkness.
It also speaks of the rebirth of spring and the hope of life. These days, we really need that positive thinking in the face of current events. That, or those, are the messages of these rocks of kindness.
Thank you very much for joining me today; I send you my warmest regards. See you soon.
Amonet.
All photographs are my own.
