Artist Statement of Gillian Scott

ARTISTS STATEMENT CONCEPTS AND METHODOLOGY

Modern Botanical Art is founded in the ancient practices of illustrating medicinal plants for herbalists. Prior to the 14C techniques were restricted to black and white wood cuts, but the discovery  and utilization of coloured pigments opened up a whole new world of artistic expression.

Depicting plants accurately is more than just drawing what you see in front of you. Good botanical art shows the natural habit of the plant and all the parts necessary for identification. Obtaining this information requires a long period of time from bud formation, through flowering to fruit set. Botanical accuracy is essential and some knowledge of plant anatomy is prerequisite.

My primary degrees are in Botany and Zoology and hence I have the requisite knowledge of plant structure. I also inherited my father’s marvellous eye for detail and ability as a painter.

Until the 20C most paintings of plants were very formal, with the piece of plant material set upright on the page. This applied even to plants with a drooping habit! Nowadays, good pictorial composition is considered essential and botanical paintings have become artworks intended to hang where they can be seen and appreciated.

When deciding which plant to paint next, a botanical artist who is sufficiently sensitive to the ethereal qualities of plants, has many things to consider. First and foremost, does it speak to the painter in me, asking to be delineated for posterity? This often includes an assessment of its rarity, although common material can be a sufficient challenge to someone with a strong personal style.

Then come the details of obtaining suitable material: do I have to climb a tree (for Amyema fitzgeraldii near the Flynn Memorial outside Alice Springs); can I reach it with my extension clippers (for Muellerina flexialabastra - only just, with someone holding onto me on a very steep hill); is it growing in a bog (Pterostylis nana - how else was I to photograph a plant only 10 cm high without lying down in the wet?).

No reputable botanical artist will paint a plant from someone else’s photograph (Rule No1). Why not? - because the shots are almost always taken face on into the flower with no indication of the fundamental structure of the bloom or the plant supporting it.

My photos are taken from behind (the calyx often has very interesting structural details), and the sides (to help get the shape of the whole bloom); I also include the buds, fruits and leaf details. This does not mean I paint from these photos but it is always wise to have reference material.

Plants have their own structural design; they are all different, they all have their own growth habit; and a plant from one habitat will not be exactly the same as another specimen from a similar habitat elsewhere. Rule No.2 is ‘always collect from more than one place’.

Investigating such wonderful plants is, at the very least, a revelation, an entry into a world of exquisite beauty. Only the one God, or the many animist gods, could have designed them. Man would have made them circular or straight and coloured them with flat coats of sodium yellow, cyan blue or magenta red, which would have been far easier to imitate with paints – and the results would have looked like cartoon characters. Botanical artists, however, are always up for a challenge – we actually enjoy the sometimes lengthy process of simulating the exquisite colour gradients provided by Mother Nature (Grevillea X ‘Merinda Gordon’ and Grevillea X ‘Robyn Gordon’).

I prepare a painting by starting with small plans of the composition. When I’m satisfied, this is enlarged to include more details of light and shade to enhance the composition. A full size tonal drawing is then made on cartridge paper and the outlines redrawn in black ink.

Botanical paintings are done on very smooth (HP) water-colour paper. This is not pre-stretched, because that destroys the smooth surface. The paper has to be thick enough to withstand small areas of wash without buckling. The drawing made on rough paper is then traced onto the painting paper using a fine pencil and many details are then added. A complex drawing is not made directly onto the painting paper because erasures will damage the surface, just as soaking will.

The actual painting is done with artists’ grade water colour paints and sable brushes. A technique called ‘dry-brush’ work is used in which very fine strokes of the colours are applied over an undercoat of the lightest tone. Many hours are then spent adding more and more paint to build up the shape and colour of the various parts of the plant.

A typical small painting on an A4 sheet of paper will need at least 30 hours to make. Some of my works have required well over 100 hours of fine, detailed painting. I usually give up counting at 100 – I have better things to do!

Most artists believe that the matting and frame are parts of the picture and should be chosen by the artist. It is rather a sad day when a painting is bought by someone who wants to reframe it to match their bedroom decor.

I want my paintings to go to good homes where they will not be hung facing a window (even modern paints can fade) and will not have the original glass replaced with non-reflective glass (which hides the fine detail so lovingly applied by the painter).

All this should show you why I am not a prolific painter. Artwork has to fit in between growing plants (many of which are for being painted) and teaching drawing and painting to others. Someone once said to me “Why do you give away so many of your trade secrets? A student might become very good at it and be stiff competition!” My reply – “I wish them the best of luck!”

What did I expect from working with Ben Beeton and allowing him to do unspeakable things with my precious paintings? Well, whilst I have cried out “Oh No! What have you done?” on first seeing a brilliant blue Grevillea, I soon realized that seeing the plants in unusual colours and in different associations has made me pay even more attention to them.

Cross-media art has a big advantage in that it makes people stop and think about the plants. They may be the ‘wrong’ colour but, as long as the beautiful subtlety of the colouring is retained, that doesn’t really matter. I have often wished for a ‘new colour’ to paint with. Exchanging grades of pink and cream for grades of khaki and purple does remarkable things for one’s aesthetic senses.

So, just stand back and enjoy what Ben has done with conventional plant portraits. It’s as mind blowing as the revelation of the life at the bottom of the ocean around the thermal vents.