Everywhere I turn I hear complaints about how pokey Spring has been ’round these parts, but I have to say—if this is late, hallelujia anyway. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve lived anywhere that had blossoming trees by early April. We had a late spring in Minneapolis last year, too, which meant that it was Memorial Day before the blooms had anything to say about it (I know, because I was fretting about the bare trees right up until my wedding that weekend).
My work tends to deal heavily in flowery typography and ornamental Victorian doodads, so this book has become a constant companion. It’s a reprint of an 1897 design primer, and displays a series of increasingly abstracted renderings of various flora, from realistic illustration to graphic pattern.
Most of the patterns in the book aren’t really my cup of tea, but they get the wheels turning and make me think in terms of filtering my sketches and observations into graphic elements. And since I’m in need of some new reference material, both for upcoming letterpress projects and for the new artist book I’m working on (more on that another time), I thought I’d see what Spring had to show me. So on Thursday Nicole and I took a little field trip to the Washington Park Arboretum in Seattle to grok the blossoms, cameras in hand.
And boy howdy, those cherry trees weren’t kidding.
The sun decided to join us, illuminating every perfect bloom in turn.
A few magnolia varieties were ready for their close-up;
most of the saucer magnolias, however, thought they’d sit this one out. But those branches! Each tree looked exactly like a candelabra.
Not to be outdone by the tourist-attracting trees, the shrubs and perennials had their say as well (although this was one of only a few rhododendrons that showed up on time; I guess the rest of them will have their party with the saucer magnolias).
Even the greenery was super-saturated (no need for Photoshop today!).
I came away with a head full of ideas, and my work cut out for me. I wouldn’t be surprised if my lettering starts sprouting petals. Nicole and I weren’t the only artists out that day, either; Azalea Way was just crawling with oil painters, watercolorists and photographers—and other like-minded folk who seemed to have quit their day jobs to do what they love (there was something very heartening in that thought, and it reinforced my own career choices).
The ducks, however, were working overtime that day.
