Lilies and Light
Newest additions to the Flower Series
Lilies have always struck me as timeless — like quiet markers of light and presence.
In Living Sun, they take shape in layered reds, from deep crimson to soft coral. It's less about the flower and more about what light does to form — how warmth shifts across a surface, how color can hum. Think of it as a study in heat, held still.
Lilac Lilies (picture above) is a cooler breath. Muted pastels, influenced by Japanese aesthetics — clean lines, quiet space, a balance of form and negative space. These lilies aren’t dramatic; they’re pared down, intentional. Each brushstroke is about restraint — less performative flower, more distilled calm. Inspired by Japanese woodblock prints, but with my own palette and texture.
Then there’s Lilies on the Via Appia — yellow and lilac-grey tones set against Roman dust. Wild lilies appeared unexpectedly between ruins, as if planted by ancient pranksters. My mother and I, feeling adventurous (read: overconfident), took a “slightly unauthorized” drive down the historic Via Appia in a squeaky-clean rental car. The sunset was spectacular. So was the fine. Worth every euro. The painting isn’t nostalgic; it’s observational — how color behaves in waning light, how wildness interrupts order.
Together, these works explore how lilies — often over-romanticized — can carry light, mood, and meaning without needing to shout. A bit stubborn, a bit elegant. Just doing their thing, wherever they happen to grow.
