Blooms in Brushstrokes: Unveiling My “Self Portrait After Degas: Young Woman Arranging Flowers”
Blooms in Brushstrokes: Unveiling My “Self Portrait After Degas: Young Woman Arranging Flowers”ear readers! It’s Tamara Jare here, spilling a bit of my creative soul onto these digital pages. As an artist who’s always worked on the edge of tradition and whimsy, I’m thrilled to share a piece that’s been blooming in my studio lately: Self Portrait After Degas: Young Woman Arranging Flowers. This oil on canvas whispers (or perhaps shouts, given its vibrant palette) a love letter to the masters. It carves out my own wild garden of color and form. If you’ve ever felt the quiet thrill of a petal unfurling or the electric hum of sunlight filtering through a window, this painting is for you. Let me take you on a stroll through its layers.
A Nod to the Master, Reimagined in Riotous Hues
Inspired by Edgar Degas’s delicate ballerinas and intimate domestic scenes—those Young Spartans Exercising vibes, but softer, more floral—I’ve reinterpreted the motif of a woman at her quiet labor. Degas captured the poetry of everyday grace, often in pastels and soft lights. But me? I couldn’t resist cranking up the volume. This isn’t a demure sketch; it’s a symphony of saturation, where every stroke pulses with life. The title nods to that lineage—After Degas—but it’s unmistakably mine: a self-portrait that blurs the line between artist and muse, creation and creator.
Picture this: I’m there on the canvas, turned in profile, my hair catching the golden hour like a halo of wheat fields. My face is serene yet focused, eyes half-lidded in that meditative trance we artists know so well. I’m clad in a flowing red dress, splashed with cerulean blues and pops of magenta. It’s as if the fabric itself is a canvas mid-painting. My hands cradle stems of orchids and roses, their petals exploding in fuchsia and violet against the deep indigo of a ceramic vase. It’s a moment frozen: arranging, yes, but also becoming the arrangement, weaving myself into the bouquet.
The Landscape of the Soul: Where Studio Meets Horizon
What elevates this from mere still life to a portal of emotion is the world beyond the table. Through an open window (or is it a symbolyc frame?), a lush green hillside rolls out like an emerald carpet. It’s dotted with slender cypress trees standing sentinel against a sky of cerulean dreams. A winding path snakes through the grass, inviting the eye to wander. Meanwhile, a brazen yellow sun hangs low, bathing everything in that liquid gold warmth. It’s Provence meets my imagination—a nod to Van Gogh’s swirling skies, perhaps, but tamed into joyful geometry.
On the foreground table, my tools of the trade steal the show. There’s a wooden palette smeared with dabs of cadmium yellow, alizarin crimson, and phthalo green. Brushes fan out like faithful companions. A jar of water catches prismatic light. There’s even a sketchbook peeking from the edge, its pages whispering untold stories. The composition dances between intimacy and expanse—the close-up tenderness of the flowers contrasting the vast, breathing landscape. It’s as if the canvas is exhaling summer, pulling you into that sun-drenched afternoon where time softens like wax under flame.
The Alchemy of Oil and Emotion
Technically speaking, this 70 x 90 cm (27.5 x 35.5-inch) oil on canvas was a delicious wrestle. I started with broad, gestural blocks of color—those fiery reds and sunny yellows laid down wet-on-wet. This created that juicy blend that oil loves so much. Then came the detailing: fine sable brushes for the petal veins, palette knives for the impasto ridges on the dress’s folds. The vibrant palette? Pure intention. In a world that can feel muted, I wanted vibrancy—pinks that sing, greens that hum, blues that soothe without dulling the edge. It’s expressionism with an impressionist’s heart: loose, luminous, alive.
But beyond the strokes, this painting is personal. It’s me, mid-creation, mirroring the quiet power of tending to beauty amid chaos. In arranging those flowers, I’m arranging fragments of myself—the bold, the tender, the wildly colorful. Degas might have smiled at the homage; I’d like to think he’d grab a brush and join the fray.
Why This Painting Matters (To Me, and Hopefully to You)
In our scroll-saturated lives, art like this is a pause button. It’s a reminder that creation isn’t just about the end product. It’s the messy, magnificent process—the way a single bloom can shift the whole composition. If Self Portrait After Degas speaks to you, maybe it’s calling you to your own vase of dreams. Grab some flowers, a canvas, or even just a moment of sunlight. Let it rearrange you.
I’d love to hear your thoughts—does this piece evoke a memory for you? Drop a comment below, or better yet, share your own floral inspirations. Originals and prints are available via my “Available Artworks” page. Beauty like this deserves to bloom in homes far and wide.
Until the next stroke, Tamara Jare Artist
P.S. If you’re in the mood for more behind-the-scenes, check out my latest IG posts!
