I finally started work in earnest on this diptych that I began last fall. I had been waiting till I found and moved into a new studio, because I didn't want to get all set up and then have to move, which would've been disruptive. However, I've nonetheless been stymied by an unexpected consequence of the move. The plant — which I find charmingly, distinctively odd, with little pink curly bits left over from where the new leaves emerge, and which I was looking forward to painting — has seemingly decided to die off, from the bottom up:
I went back to the garden store where I purchased it to see if they had any more, but no luck. The woman there surmised that perhaps the different environmental conditions in the new studio don't suit it as well as the old studio. Well, the old space did face south, and got a ton of light (too much, actually, for a painting studio). This new one faces west, and while it is plenty bright, there isn't that same flood of direct sunlight. I don't know what I'm going to do now with this painting: I was so taken with this particular plant, and was amusing myself with the conceit of having the central stalk sprout out of the body and climb straight up, like a beanstalk.
I'm flummoxed. The idea for this painting was predicated on this very singular plant, which is now dying. I'm not sure what to do, except for try to find another, beanstalk-like plant. When you're working from life, the devil really is in the details.