Story behind the art of Carol Ashton-Hergenhan
28th Annual International
American Society of Botanical Artists and Marin Art & Garden Center
Bishop's Balls
Gomphocarpus physocarpus
I wish I had a wonderful, captivating story about a trek through the veldt with the happy circumstance of stumbling upon a miraculous plant. But I do not. I was simply grocery shopping in my local store in Newtown, Pennsylvania, (December 2024) and saw stalks in the floral section labeled bishop’s balls (Gomphocarpus physocarpus) and thought, “those would be neat to paint.” I figured they would last a bit, so I put them aside in the studio. To my surprise, they started to open, and their interior was more amazing than I anticipated.
Suddenly I had balls of milkweed fluff. Bummer. I then learned that Gomphocarpus physocarpus is a plant in the milkweed subfamily (Asclepiadoideae) of the dogbane family (Apocynaceae). I had painted various species of Asclepias and knew the trials of painting the seeds. I have avoided them on some pieces but couldn’t on this specimen. I carefully moved the stalks with open pods to my painting table and sprayed them with heavy duty hairspray to keep them in place.
The gift-giving season was approaching so I asked for tinted paper as a present. I pointed my husband to a variety of papers and sources and waited. He came through and I had several new papers to try, all of which would allow me to work with white paint which I thought would make things easier. After much consideration, I selected Bockingford Tinted Grey 300 gsm (140 lb).
The tale now diverges.
On the art side, I knew I’d have to underpaint to get the brightness of the light on the pods and the reflective characteristic inside them. Transparent watercolors don’t work well for this, so I put a white casein layer under the pods that needed bright light. I sanded the dry casein lightly to accept watercolor washes and went on from there. I have been working on Arches aquarelle papers since I was in school 60 years ago. I have also used various rice papers like Moriki and Sekishu. Going back to a harder surface was tough and I felt the paper was fighting me every step of the way. When I got to the seeds, I had the break I was hoping for and used the paper to get tonal variation and highlight the seeds. In the pod, which was just opening, I painted in the negative space so that the unpainted paper acted as shadowed diaspores (a diaspore is a plant dispersal unit, in this case the seed and its silky hairs that catch the wind). I used white for the parts in full light. I looked at my work for several weeks before I finally decided to keep the stems fading into space. This painting is all about the pods!
But there is more to this piece than execution. When you start with cut flowers from your local grocery store, you must do some research. Once I had the nomenclature, I learned that G. physocarpus is a native of southeast Africa. And so is my personal trainer. He told me one of the plant’s common names is “umbababa,” loosely translated as “father of fathers.” It has other names including one in a click language that I can’t begin to spell. (Click languages use noises like tongue clucks instead of regular consonants.) It sounds wonderful, though. From there our conversation wandered to the poisonous aspects of the plant (all parts) and how in a scene from the movie, The Gods Must Be Crazy, the Khoisan people shot the plant so the sap would fall on their attackers. I was lifting weights when he started talking about how his young children, ages four and six, love learning about things from his native country. I gave him some specimens for them to see, expanding my learning experience to them.
The tale of this painting is complete, but the story of the specimens is not. I have kept some carefully bisected pods and removed their inner seed capsules. Painting them will be a challenge for another time.
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