STORY BEHIND THE ART OF MILLY ACHARYA

17th Annual International

American Society of Botanical Artists at the Horticultural Society of New York

Purple Passionflower

Passiflora x violacea

Passionflowers had been on my wish-list for years but the quest for the plant in our local nurseries summer after summer proved futile. After three years when I'd quite given up I spotted a woman wearing a passionflower in her hair and learned she grows numerous varieties of Passiflora - she is passionately fond of them. Was that my lucky day!

You cannot look at a passionflower without being wonder struck by its architectural grandeur, the queer assemblage of stamens and anthers, pistil and filaments, its exotic flamboyance as well as demure shyness. The buds take a long, long time to unfold but once they do it's a race against time for brush and paint to keep pace with the open bloom which lasts but a single day!

This pantropical plant struck early Christian missionaries in South America as representing the torture and crucifixion of Christ. The “passion” in the flower's name comes from the sufferings of Christ. And long before, in other parts of the world, the open flower reminded people of the face of a clock, or of the blue-skinned Krishna. It also has a key role in folk medicine. Certain species are known for their calming and soothing effects and are used as a remedy for anxiety disorders and insomnia.

Prior to painting this purple passionflower, I had just completed a companion piece, Passiflora caerulean. The species differences provide interesting contrasts and analysis---they certainly display very distinct personalities. It was a thrill and a challenge to document the languid graces of both these vines, the rhythm of numbers, the counts of three and five, their intricate coiling tendrils, the unexpected planes and growth direction. And all the while I kept thinking---this unbelievable drama for but a single day in the sunlight!

Garlic with Scape and Bulbil

Allium sativum

The genus Allium, from the Latin for garlic, includes several pungent bulbous plants---leeks, onions, chives. The garlic plant has a long folk history. Its use has been recorded in Vedic times, across cultures from ancient China to Egypt. It was believed to ward off diseases and infections and to confer strength. Garlic has had wide recognition for its fungicidal, germicidal, antiseptic and tonic uses wherever it is grown.

The flowers, leaves, root and seed of the garlic are all edible, but it is the bulb which has been in longest use for its culinary, healthful and medicinal properties. And let’s not forget that garlic was also thought to repel evil spirits and vampires!

I have painted leeks and onions and also garlic before, so admittedly I'm beguiled by the Allium family. To procure this particular specimen I had to ask a local grower at our Farmers' Market to save a plant with the scape and bulbil intact and as much of the soil around the roots as she could. After several wasted trips (because the plants had not developed their eagerly awaited features) and weeks of impatience, when I finally brought the plant home, I immersed the bulb in water and very tenderly shook the soil away from the roots so they were uninjured by the trauma. Why all this fuss? Well, I have a strong aversion to roots being portrayed with abrupt endings---like a really bad haircut! Hence the couple of hours spent spraying and rinsing.

There is real pleasure in taking a common kitchen staple and telling its story from its beginnings to tail ends, detailing the familiar and the less well known elements. The minuscule florets and the tiny garlic pearls at the end of the scape (the part that farmers dispose of so the bulb underground grows bigger and turns commercially viable), were a delight to behold and portray. I was riveted by the changing leaves that started off pliant in youthful shades of jade and emerald, drying gradually into coral and jasper; the bulbil breaking free of its turban shaped papery enclosure; the roots so thirsty when no longer earth-bound, exposed to air; the scape doing its sinuous serpentine dance to music inaudible to human ears. 

And just in case you were wondering, no vampires came calling!

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