It would be interesting to determine the symbolical meaning of the flowers (since they lack a textual one). I think that the meaning here is of broad allusion to civilization, as it was created by the written word; in this context the aim would be to remind the audience that civilization is near, that people are around, and that that hand may indeed appear as if from nowhere and clear the view for us. So in fact this is a soothing element — a somewhat paradoxical conclusion considering the alarming bright red color. On the other hand, we are being given a close-up view of the wild growth far ahead — a preparation and a warning — more signs of civilization.

In terms of traditional western aesthetic the flowers may act as a focal point. However, the overpowering bright reds bend this role to claim more attention and importance. This feature creates a complex net of meanings, shuffling between foreground (and civilization) and background (and wild nature). The closed compositions add a sense of tropical atmospheric heaviness that makes itself notable after some viewing time — the time needed to desensitize oneself from the redness. Here the water, flowing in parallel to the garlands, refreshes the air, as if putting down a fire: the artist reminds us of the relief water brings by giving it a similar role in the painterly context.

For my last review of Dawn Lundquist’s work I wanted to choose between the seascapes and the waterfalls. For various reasons, I prefer the latter works — admittedly a subjective bias. I love the richness of the vegetation and how the artist saturates the air with mist spray. I find the seascapes too familiar, living on the Mediterranean shore, whereas the Edenic waterfalls look fresh and tempting. But there is no doubt that the former possess similar freshness to appreciate which would take only a few hours inside an apartment, a cubicle, or a car — when the vacation is over.

The sharp color variations of the birds’ plumage both defines and accentuates the difference. The red and orange clash with the black, white and green, generating bright, discordant harmonies that engross one’s attention. Sometimes it may seem that the roosters were the artist’s excuse to experiment with wild color combinations — like parrots would seem nature’s to experiment with grotesque decorative designs. I think that these roosters’ flashy coloration breaks down the prejudice of a boring gray domesticated bird. With the artist’s help, they restore some dignity, which makes them equals among such show-offs as said parrots or even peacocks.

It is easy to recognize characteristic gestures: one is evidently in an attacking/advancing mode while the other is singing. The artist makes her subjects interesting and endearing not only for their plumage but also for their demeanor. The proud postures reveal fearlessness and the readiness to engage in a fight: I don’t know if some of the depicted breeds are of the fighting kind, but it is easy to imagine them as such. It takes only a few long, curving and strong contour lines to condense the birds’ character — a linear economy that makes sense in the overall painterly context.

Line is not the only element to be reduced to formal simplicity: undemanding symmetry and balance make up the bulk of the compositional conception. The artist skillfully positions the cocks near a tree, or counterpoises the head with the tail. I find the results delightful: while in terms of symmetry the left side mirrors the right side, in terms of color they produce a poignant contrast. It can be that this coexistence of balance and imbalance reflects the rooster’s lazy alpha behavior — I would certainly pay more attention now, when I see one.

Arguably the most dominant stylistic feature in these paintings is the dense, overflowing use of color. It appears to trickle down from the petals and paint the air; the flowers seem to be sweating hue, so thick and generous are the patches of deep blue, red, white and orange. Usually only two or three main colors constitute the entire palette; they interchange and create intense compositions (usually relying on radial symmetry).

The color technique leaves less room for air and light, which are subsequently of diminished importance here. As a result, the atmosphere may appear as particularly heavy, humid and sticky; since these qualities indeed characterize tropical locations, it remains to conclude that the extraordinary density of color ensues from a necessity dictated by the climate conditions (I love it when everything falls in place like that — for me, this is the mark of good art). Although each painting usually shows only one single flower, the overall impression is of being submerged into a jungle.

As it often happens when color takes precedence, the painterly vanquishes nearly all traces of the linear. These are the antidote to a botanical illustration: the emphasis here is on the unified whole, on the movement of humid air that soaks the painted surface and on a mystical luminescence that all but evokes mythical contemplation on the emergence of life. Unusual viewing angles and an unclear generic status — in most cases it is impossible to determine whether the flowers are still life or still growing — contribute to the mystical mood. Furthermore, the lack of detail disrupts scale perception and the flowers may appear like giants slowly moving through air. Everything seems to conspire to convey something magical.

In a contrary turn, these florals succeed also in something more real and tangible: the depicted richness overstimulates the visual perception as to overflow and arouse, if only in one’s mind, other senses — particularly the sense of smell. The Angel’s Trumpet you see above may seem to spread faint tinkling and accompany its heavenly ambiance. Regardless of one’s readiness to accept such interpretation, ignoring the sensuous abundance — naturally predisposed to engage other senses — would be unfair. These flowers want to smell and sound — and who are we to stop them?