Story behind the art of Abbye Carsten

 

29th Annual International

American Society of Botanical Artists and the Society of Illustrators

 

Spring in the Half Acre Wood

Geranium maculatum, Betula nigra

 

Seeking out natural spaces in which to practice observation has been something I’ve Indulged in since childhood, and my love for wild places has led me to a daily ritual of walking – and gathering plants, insects and images. That is how I began to envision this piece, while in motion, noticing. I felt inspired to focus on native plants as I feel this is my own form of activism; a way to bring awareness to our connection with the earth, plants and insects, and their innate, vital interrelationships, as well.

 

My piece is an expression of the symbiosis that exists between the species I’ve painted. In a symbiotic relationship, insects and plants rely on one another for sustenance, shelter, breeding, and more.

 

It’s worth mentioning that the work of the sixteenth century Flemish artist Joris Hoefnagel, with his small, detailed, and at times whimsical approach, provided some of the inspiration for this piece. Drawing on his sense of subtlety and staging, I felt encouraged to work in an 8”x 8” format and to attempt to include numerous plants and insects into what I thought of as a “miniature” space.

 

I set out to gather the subjects for my piece in early spring, all the while considering the small compositional area I had chosen. I wanted two plants in the composition, on opposite sides: one a tree and the other an herbaceous plant, both blooming.

 

I was walking on a local road that weaves alongside Bennetts Farm State Park in Ridgefield, Connecticut and decided to focus on this area to see what trees and other plants were blooming and chose a river birch, Betula nigra. I became enamored with the male catkins which were just beginning to form on it. I brought a branch into my studio and made a few preliminary sketches. The branch was in water, and over a few days it began to grow and change. These minute shifts were fascinating. I took dozens of pictures and made numerous sketches and paint color notes. The pendulous catkins hanging at the end of the twig changed from brown, closed, and smooth in their Fibonacci spiral, to pale green then yellow, with the bracts opening and revealing tiny flowers. It was marvelous! The tiny fuzzy female upright catkins, which sit above a leaf bud, were beginning to show. This is how wind pollination is achieved by this tree, both male and female catkins presenting simultaneously. The next day while sitting down to work, I knocked into the branch, which exploded the flower’s pollen in yellow clouds all over my working surface. Again, it was stunning! I was happy with my choice and the Betula nigra branches became a friendly fixture in my studio.

 

In this piece, the many faces of Orgyia leucostigma, the white-marked tussock moth, are depicted, as well as a Croesus latitarsus, the dusky birch sawfly, both of which feed on the river birch. Sawflies belong to the family Hymenoptera and are most closely related to wasps.

 

I found a Geranium maculatum, wild geranium, which is native to the woodlands of eastern North America, in a woodland area along the road across from my house. I identified it by its palmate leaves; the small buds were still days from bloom. I dug the whole plant up because I wanted to see everything about its habits and structure; cutting a few specimen pieces would not have been enough. I potted it, adding a bit of compost, and on my drafting table it lived, returned outside at night and some days, as it transformed beautifully over the course of weeks. It is one of those plants that opens itself up in a quiet, dignified way; never bursting forth with huge amounts of color or foliage but revealing itself slowly and surely. Its blooms last just a few days, fading as the next blossom comes forward. The petals of the flower are almost translucent; the light hits the interior of the flower and the color fades. In the pale green center are ten stamens. The veins in the tiny, pinkish purple petals are deep magenta or periwinkle or deep purple, depending on their age. The petals fade to pale purple when they begin to drop and I wanted to express that, as this process is integral to the cycle of the plant. The colors were a huge challenge, and I spent days trying to capture the range of hues accurately. Upon finishing the piece, I returned this beautiful, evolving plant to the woodland area where I’d earlier found it, with thanks for the time we’d shared together.

 

I included the very small mining bee, Andrena distans, known as the cranesbill miner bee, because it utilizes Geranium maculatum as its host plant. Cranesbill is another common name of the wild geranium, as the fruit resembles the beak of a crane.

 

In all my work, I try to express my sense of witness, respect and love for these living woods, and the layers of interconnectedness that exist there. I hope to convey the beauty of the mornings I’ve spent walking the woods, or on the farm where I watch the heat build as the sun moves over the fields, or in wetlands, watching the dragonflies play, perceiving the perennial superpowers of the land. I believe things happen for a reason, and something set me on a devotional path of working with plants and insects for the long term. I attempt to reflect one turn of the season, one little insect, one slight plant, to craft one small but deliberate painting, frozen in time.

 

 

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