Fizzy Poppies!

I have been searching for a studio space for the last four years, as I had to work in my living room and as a consequence, my sofa is covered in splatters of acrylic paint!! But now I have the luxury of a 3-metre wall to work on! I can splatter and splot to my heart’s content! The studio space is in a fab place called ‘Fountain Arts’ and is a little community of artists. There are 9 artists or crafters with spaces, and with them being open plan, it is great to chat to others. But when I am alone, I get out my bluetooth speaker, hook it up to my phone, put some happy music on and paint away to my hearts content! (I dance too, but shhhhhh!!)

I painted my first larger acrylic floral before Christmas and wow, what a liberating experience to be let loose with the acrylics and SPACE!!! I abandoned the reference pics and just went with the flow! I let my spirit free and worked intuitively, letting my soul make the creative decisions!

‘Fizzy Poppies’ evolved gradually over the space of a few weeks!

1st stage: I painted a weak wash with watered down acrylics. This provided the base layer for the rest of the work:

2nd Stage: I painted on a white background at first, defining the flowers and vase using negative space. I then added some yellow, and the green base. It looks a little patchy! That green is so intense!!

Stage 3: At this point, I had a total change of direction and was driven to use a palette knife to add red petals, which became poppies! I used a sharp pencil and scribbled all over the painting, gouging into the wet paint. My son joined in! It was great fun!! I could have tidied up the patchy background and this would have been a good artwork. But I got caught in the moment, and I needed lots of red and a sense of movement:

I made the vase edges less defined, then used a black oil pastel to define the poppies and add some shadows. I scribbled round and round each poppy with a pencil and the tip of a palette knife, which was unabashedly hedonistic! But I love the textures. Gold paint was scraped onto the canvas using a palette knife. OOooo I just LOVE palette knives!!! Such fun! I love big brushes, too!!

To add the final touches, I used thinned-down white acrylic and a brush for my very favourite part of my ‘artistry’! The SPLATTERS!!!!! Yay! I get really physical, hurling the paint across the painting! i do think it gives a sense of movement though.

Hey Presto….’Fizzy Poppies’ had emerged in a whirl of evolution!!

So there you have it!! The evolution of Fizzy Poppies! I am going to enter it into the Ferens Open Exhibition 2024 (the Ferens Art Gallery in Hull). Last year, my watercolour painting, ‘Cluckers’ was chosen for the exhibition. I used to visit the Ferens very often with Grandad Pett and never would have believed I would have work displayed in there. Honoured and privileged!

You can find me on Instagram: @sarahdruryart and on Facebook: Sarah Drury Art. And I can be contacted though the contact page on this website.

Fizzy Poppies, acrylics on canvas, 40×32″ © 2024 Sarah Drury

A Bluebird in 8 Ways

A BLUEBIRD IN EIGHT WAYS
                           ~ After Wallace Stevens
 
I

A poet is a bluebird
who drizzles the sky
with indanthrene songs 

II

I am making words
out of the bluebird’s tongue,
littered on the paper 
like a rejection letter.

III

The bluebird looks at me
with its reticent eye - 
wants to sprinkle lies
in the blackbird’s ear.

IV

I have no time for cheats.
Bluebirds are full of infidelity,
wagging their sweet 
little tails at the worms.

V

I know a fine song
if it licks my heels.
I smile and my breast heaves
at the fortissimo.

VI

When the bluebird flies away
the chicks’ chasm-jaws 
snatch at a stopped watch.

VII

The snow dusts the blue wings.
Makes snow angels on the ice.
I fall, my womb a pomegranate.

VIII

I never did fit in a box.
Too big dreams for a small forest.
No blackbirds with carbon plumage.
I want diamonds. 

Copyright © Sarah Drury 2022


Wallace Stevens, (1954), 'Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird' from The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens. New York. Random House.


Images by krstnwatts0 and Johnny Gunn from Pixabay

Sunflowers

Good morning! An art group I am a member of, on Facebook, has regular themes. This week’s theme is anything related to ‘the sun’, which is in a broad interpretation. There have been some wonderful posts of members’ sunflower paintings, which I find delightful, as I love the happy, optimistic flowers!

I discovered this really interesting article from The National Gallery regarding the most famous sunflower painting ever. You guessed it…Van Gogh’s Sunflowers!

Here is the article: https://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/learn-about-art/paintings-in-depth/sunflowers-symbols-of-happiness

I painted this sunflower a couple of years ago. It makes me so happy…the beautiful, vibrant, loose colours. I must get a little frame for it and put it somewhere I can gaze at it as therapy when I feel a but challenged!!

Sunflower, Sarah Drury, 2020, watercolour

How do you feel about sunflowers? How about sunflower art? Do the sunny flowers fill you with joy and optimism? I bought a vase of artificial sunflowers to remember a young boy (he was 15) who took his own life by jumping into the River Trent. I keep them on my windowsill where the sun shines onto them. I hope he is at peace.

*Featured header Image by Susanne Jutzeler, Schweiz 🇨🇭 suju-foto from Pixabay

Blackpool Tower

Many, many years ago I had a very frightening experience. I was young – around 14 – and my life pretty much revolved around playing the cello. I joined an orchestra in Lincoln, which is a fair drive away from my hometown. An older man, must have been sixty-plus, used to give me a lift there. There were usually several of us, but this one night I was alone with him on the journey home. He stopped his car and made a very inappropriate move. It was dark, and he had pulled his car over to the side of the desolate country lane. I screamed and went ballistic, which must have taken him aback, as he quietly drove me home.

That is the backstory for this poem. Blackpool Tower is a metaphor, but I won’t explain and ruin the images your mind will weave as you read!

The layby takes me back 
to the lanes not lit up 
like Blackpool Tower, where I fell, 
illuminated by blown bulbs.

I should not have been hitching rides
with dirty men, him telling me 
we couldn’t make babies 
with his thing choked in rubber.

His death would be better.
I would prefer a cadaver.
Stiff fingers, curled, like questions.

His wife.
Evenings, he slipped into her.
The usual in, out, in, out.
Nothing in it for her. 
Never is.


Copyright © Sarah Drury 2022







Glass

My husband passed away 12 years ago, which affected me deeply for a long time. I have come to terms with his death, which was traumatic. I wrote this poem as a tribute to our love.

GLASS


You hold me, I am porcelain. 
I am chipped in places, but not broken.
You like the chinks and cracks, 
they let hope shine in. 

Our lips meet in earthshine, 
until the moon’s shadow dances 
at my throat.

Your hands, they are granite, 
they are feathers.
I like the crowns of thorns 
you wear upon your palms. 

They make me bleed 
when you place
them on my breasts.
I know we are living
amongst the dying.

I am Venus, you create me. 
You take me from my abstract world 
and paint me into starry skies 
above the Rhone.

Your kind hands model the widow 
from the girl. You carve me 
out of glass to see 
if this heart still beats –

if it is still yours.


Copyright © Sarah Drury 2022