La Bohème (9" x 12")
La Boheme | part of The Lakes collection | Oil on 9” x 12” canvas board
I painted so much of the landscape and gardens of the Lake District, but I thought what might Beatrix Potter or William Wordsworth done with all the beautiful flowers they grew.
Surely they cut fresh blossoms and arranged them messily in a vase. I thought of how the blooms would be present on their writing desk, but rightly fade into a hazy background while they wrote, acting as a totem to welcome them back from the worlds they created with their pen.
“There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, the earth, and every common sight, to me did seem apparelled in celestial light, the glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;— Turn wheresoe’er I may, by night or day.
The things which I have seen I now can see no more”
La Boheme | part of The Lakes collection | Oil on 9” x 12” canvas board
I painted so much of the landscape and gardens of the Lake District, but I thought what might Beatrix Potter or William Wordsworth done with all the beautiful flowers they grew.
Surely they cut fresh blossoms and arranged them messily in a vase. I thought of how the blooms would be present on their writing desk, but rightly fade into a hazy background while they wrote, acting as a totem to welcome them back from the worlds they created with their pen.
“There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, the earth, and every common sight, to me did seem apparelled in celestial light, the glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;— Turn wheresoe’er I may, by night or day.
The things which I have seen I now can see no more”
La Boheme | part of The Lakes collection | Oil on 9” x 12” canvas board
I painted so much of the landscape and gardens of the Lake District, but I thought what might Beatrix Potter or William Wordsworth done with all the beautiful flowers they grew.
Surely they cut fresh blossoms and arranged them messily in a vase. I thought of how the blooms would be present on their writing desk, but rightly fade into a hazy background while they wrote, acting as a totem to welcome them back from the worlds they created with their pen.
“There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, the earth, and every common sight, to me did seem apparelled in celestial light, the glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;— Turn wheresoe’er I may, by night or day.
The things which I have seen I now can see no more”