"Pears and Grapes" oil A friend came here for lunch in April and on the way to her car, she stopped and asked me the name of the beautiful blue flower tucked up against the birdbath. I said "Dollarama Blue" and she asked me to spell it. The jig was up.
In my defence, we had a particularly long winter here. And our garden is always late to bloom. What is a girl to do when nothing will do but some colour? I put real thought into my fraudulent show, too. In fact, I have quite the little collection of "additions." (I think of them as the equivalent of hair extensions or glue-on fingernails) I put away my lovely ersatz geraniums a little too well last season and I still can't find them, but I must say that the fake rhodos came in awfully handy this year in particular.
As long as I am in a confessional mood, not all of my phalenopsis orchids are in bloom all of the time.
Which raises the question: does a fake become real if it has been painted? I certainly hope so. This painting began with real fruit and was finished with objets en matiere plastique. Why? Because Jon came home from work, walked into the kitchen where I had set up, and ate the subject matter. Surely I can't be the only painter in the world who must keep a supply of fake fruit for just such emergencies. And I imagine that I shall go on lurking in the dollar store in late winter, watching for worthy kin of the elusive Dollarama Blue.
In my defence, we had a particularly long winter here. And our garden is always late to bloom. What is a girl to do when nothing will do but some colour? I put real thought into my fraudulent show, too. In fact, I have quite the little collection of "additions." (I think of them as the equivalent of hair extensions or glue-on fingernails) I put away my lovely ersatz geraniums a little too well last season and I still can't find them, but I must say that the fake rhodos came in awfully handy this year in particular.
As long as I am in a confessional mood, not all of my phalenopsis orchids are in bloom all of the time.
Which raises the question: does a fake become real if it has been painted? I certainly hope so. This painting began with real fruit and was finished with objets en matiere plastique. Why? Because Jon came home from work, walked into the kitchen where I had set up, and ate the subject matter. Surely I can't be the only painter in the world who must keep a supply of fake fruit for just such emergencies. And I imagine that I shall go on lurking in the dollar store in late winter, watching for worthy kin of the elusive Dollarama Blue.
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