Yellow Roses - Mixed media, oil on acrylic

Coming down the garden path one summer morning the sunlight in the yellow rose-bush shone with such an incandescent golden glory that I stopped to stare. The iridescent sheen of the soft and shapely petals, and the perfumed breath of the open flowers were entrancing. Only a rose can so gently curl and kiss and shine as to deserve the role of summer's hostess offering her cheeks in welcome!
It felt such a privilege to paint so frail yet firm a beauty. How such gorgeous creatures could spring out of earth, and grimy root, and thorny twig almost overnight, and from nowhere take command of sun and soil and all in sight, is a marvel not easily unravelled. I cut some flowers, and laid them down on a table and lifted each in turn and looked them over. Intrigued by all the little details from the mottled green and russet rind of the stem to the sharp interstices of the shapely pointed leaves and the clean velvet purity of the petals, I felt as if I might honour all flowers by painting these. So, as it was a hot day, I quickly had them arranged and bathing in a vase, and drew and painted until I knew their beauty by heart.
The exercise showed me afresh why the rose reigns as queen, in Tudor red and white, and in sovereign yellow, mistress of almost every city park and English cottage garden

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