Visiting the Not-So-Abstract Past

I wasnt always an abstract painter or a minimalist for that matter. For anyone who's followed my work over the years, I started out as an illustrator. I illustrated everything from children's books to technical and scientifc journals at Cornell University.

While going through an old portfolio, I came across some old illustrations I'd completed under the guidance of my mentor Bente Starcke King. As I gingerly turned over the sheets of vellum, and peered beneath the soft layers of crepe paper, I had fond memories of listening to Mozart and drawing in Bente's office on the 4th floor of Mann Library at Cornell University. We were also joined by the now well-known and reknowned illusrator Alison Schroeer. I'd arrive, late afternoons, having taken a bus from my house off campus, stopping off to pick up that afternoon's pastries. We drew plants all afternoon, gorgeous sexy plants and botanicals both larger than life and also microscopic views of tiny universes. If we were working with flowers of the season, I'd bring chocolate rum balls or apple danish. While doing more exotic illustrations for plants discovered in the south american rainforest, we'd munch nut bread while gently handling the PhD student's preserved research specimens.

Back in those days, the process was still manual. Pen, ink, quills... no one knew a thing about carpel tunel syndrome and the stippling was murder on the wrists if not gorgeous. I'm missing those days because to me there was something civilised about sitting in a sunny office at a big wooden antique drawing table, giving life to botanicals on paper. Some species I drew hadn't been out of the pressed stacks in years and even breathing on them for too long might have resulted in hastening their decay. I had the opportunity to view rare species that had either passed into extinction long ago or newly discovered plants from deep in the heart of a jungle.

It was good work, sometimes tedious, with a lot of difficulty and staring through microscopes some afternoons. When we used vellum I recall having to wash my hands so often that my fingernails cracked. If the natural oils from your fingers soaked into the vellum it would ruin the piece. You could not rest your hand directly on the surface that you drew on so I kept a clean stack of lint free towels in my drawer. And the idea of an undo button as in a computer application was non-existant.

I would draw bird eggs, spring magnolia buds, and even mushrooms all from charcoal dust applied only with a brush when taking a break from the pen and ink plates.

I think that was how I learned my breathing technique that gave way to my steady hand application when painting freeform lines on canvas.

I looked up Alison today and sent her a note reminding her of the good old days back at school. If anyone wants to see any of my work, a more readily accessible journal has a series of plates I completed. [Taxonomy of Asarum Section Asarum (Aristolochiaceae)" by Lawrence M. Kelly].

Funny how I seemed to leave a very concrete representative world behind in favor of one open to far more interpretation.

Maybe my next career will see me doing something with a return to craft... something hands on that really does require a skill, not just the ability to use a computer. *Wistful sigh*

Bente passed away in 2005 while I was living and working in Australia. One of her more famous watercolours has a story behind it that no one really knows. One afternoon when making my usual pick up of afternoon tea sweets, I spotted a woman selling these large gorgeous sunflowers. Bente had been sick and the weather had been terribly gloomy. Our office wasn't as cheerful as it had been in past days so I bought the largest sunflower of the bunch as a gift to Bente and to brighten her desk. Despite her illness, she was so inspired by the sunflower that overnight she completed the painting and it was truly a masterpiece.

Benete, wherever you are my friend, I miss you and I am ever grateful for the artistic influence you had over my life.