If my studio smells like a flower it means the spring has come.
It doesn’t only bring me sunnier days and more colorful emotions, but also the intense willing to paint flowers. The ladies who gather bunches of snowdrops and crocuses in forests and fields, sell them just a block away from my studio. They stand in a row as if they were on stage, taking part in the beauty’s competition, but this time serving only as a medium (sorry ladies) for the first field flowers. Strange is the fact, that we, humans, make a choice according to our sense of beauty every day. The more beautiful something appears to us, the more chances it has to land in our home, be it a book shelf or even an alive creature, a dog for example. Remembering about it, I chose the first bunch of flowers I saw, without using to them that strange procedure of visual judgments.
These days I’m completely into snowdrops and crocuses. I can hardly remember whether I paint them last years, but I was always fascinated by their tender nature. On one hand they are tiny and sensible; on the other hand they are strong and assertive – they win their struggle against the winter cold and hint that the snowy time is coming to the end. The winter should be ready to step back whereas the spring should be strong enough to have its way.
The calendar says, it’s a spring time. Ernest Hemingway called the begin of the spring “a false spring”, nevertheless it’s the beginning of the awakening of beauty. Both nature and a human being get into their own blossom. Awakening of the soul, be it human’s or nature’s one. “When spring came”, – said my favourite Hemingway – “even the false spring, there were no problems except were to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness, except for the very few that were as good as a spring itself”.