VIEW IN MY ROOM
Lily Mae Print
United States
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Fine Art Paper
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12 x 9 in ($40)
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White ($80)
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About The Artwork
From my blog (beatricebeeflowers.blogspot.com): In college I loved to decipher, or attempt to at least, the symbolism in the paintings we studied. The musical instrument, a cabbage, a recently extinguished candle, the little dog underfoot, a unicorn in the distance, a map of the world, all spoke volumes about the main characters and the drama unfolding in tableau. We studied paintings depicting the Virgin Mary as the archangel Gabriel tells her of God's plans for her future. In most cases she takes the news pretty well. In these paintings, there's usually a representation of the holy spirit somewhere, a beam of light, a glowing dove. Often an open book, conveniently turned to Isaiah 7:14 ("therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: the virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son...") which might be why Mary hasn't fainted dead away...she saw it coming. Sometimes there's a vase or another vessel of some sort symbolizing that Mary will carry the yet-to-be-born savior. But perhaps the most common is the lily, symbol of purity. I remember the day my drift away from religion really picked up speed. Ironically, it was at a church retreat. Searching, like many of us do, for some sort of spiritual ballast, I was attending classes at a local Episcopal church which brought me to the retreat. A small group of us sat on wooden chairs near the altar of a small chapel. The priest confessed to us that he had a hard time swallowing the virgin birth story. I was astounded! This guy? How could this be? The validation I was searching for dissolved faster than the host on my tongue. Since that day I've come to describe myself as a "cultural Christian" which basically means that I celebrate the holidays and still find my moral compass in the Judeo-Christian tradition. I'm just not that keen on the whole organized stuff. And I'm highly suspicious of a book written by men who claimed God whispered in their ears. I think God, if there is such a being, has a whole lot more to do than ghost write a book for a few carbon units on one of a gazillion flecks of dust blowing through the universe. But I digress. When I see a lily I can't help but think of Easter, or of Mary's world being knocked off its axis. But I also can't help but think about the loving touch of a mother and of the sacrifice and servitude that goes along with that territory. I think about a warm and loving woman named Lily Mae -- long, long since gone -- who made my sometimes lonely childhood days a little less so. I can't help but think about the miracle of healing that happens at the kiss on a skinned knee. Lily Mae kissed quite a few. People turn to the Virgin for intercession, for compassion, to hear their small woes. I talk to my beautiful sisters and the many women who have made my journey lighter by carrying some of my troubles in their pockets. And so, for Lily Mae, and for all of my miraculous sisters who carry on after receiving unwelcome news, whose kisses heal, who persevere, who laugh and stumble and ache and triumph, I dedicate this painting. I love you all.
Details & Dimensions
Print:Giclee on Fine Art Paper
Size:12 W x 9 H x 0.1 D in
Size with Frame:17.25 W x 14.25 H x 1.2 D in
Frame:White
Ready to Hang:Yes
Packaging:Ships in a Box
Shipping & Returns
Delivery Time:Typically 5-7 business days for domestic shipments, 10-14 business days for international shipments.
Handling:Ships in a box. Art prints are packaged and shipped by our printing partner.
Ships From:Printing facility in California.
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United States
I was the youngest of four girls and I was the one who took up my dad’s offer to go with him to the nursery or help him in his workshop. My childhood memories smell like bags of manure in the back of the station wagon and sawdust on the floor of the garage. My dad taught me how to deadhead spent flowers and how to use a drill and how to temper steel. He gifted me with a miter box one year and a box full of acrylic paints and brushes another year. As an engineer he was a frustrated artist but one who could paint with plants and outfit a 27’ sailboat, sails and all. He filled our lives with beautiful things and those things have continued to be important to me as well, especially flowers. And he gave me that box of paints. From Yankee stock, my dad saved scraps of wood. There was a pile I could pilfer for whatever project I wanted. In middle school I used them to paint stylized characters of girls with long legs and flowers, always flowers. When I paint flowers now it’s as if I am gathering them together on the canvas as a gift for someone. I try to summon those childhood memories to imbue all of their essences together: their smell, their velvet petals, their brilliant color (not so much the manure). I like to paint them powerful and in-your-face, filling as much of the canvas as I can so the viewer gets a bee’s eye view. And sometimes I paint them in isolation, sometimes waifs, sometimes powerful in their solitude. I think about my work as autobiographical in some ways. The flowers, certainly, but also the infrequent landscapes which usually document a passage of time and space like a move across country. And in the past several years children have reappeared in my work. Now part of my own expanded family. Definitely marking the passage of time. My process is quite deliberate. I start with an inspiration photo that I take with my phone; do some tweaking of the image in Photoshop and then create a detailed to scale canvas-sized newsprint drawing outlining important elements which I then transfer to canvas. I isolate the subject by filling in the background with a dark color then work section by section painting thin layers to develop the various elements of the piece. I use a stay-wet palette so that I can work slowly to build thin color upon thin color. I will do several glazes near the end of the process. My last task is to complete the background, neatening errant brushwork, etc. I like short handled brushes and my rolling stool.
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