Flowers 1882

Editor: So, this is Fantin-Latour's *Flowers*, painted in 1882. It's an oil painting, fairly classic subject matter, but there’s something about the way the light catches those petals that feels almost dreamlike, almost melancholic to me. What catches your eye about it? Curator: It's interesting you say melancholic. For me, it's a celebration – perhaps of fleeting beauty, but a celebration nonetheless. Fantin-Latour, bless his heart, wasn't just painting flowers. He was conducting an orchestra. Look at the different textures – the impasto giving weight and substance, like thick dollops of cream, the delicate brushwork capturing the fragile quality of each petal. Can you almost smell them? Editor: I can see that – a lot is going on within quite a simple composition! Do you think the relative darkness emphasizes that, makes the colours more vibrant by contrast? Curator: Absolutely! The darkness is a stage, highlighting the actors – these exquisitely painted blooms, all jostling for attention. But Fantin-Latour, clever chap, balances it. He creates harmony out of chaos, doesn't he? Like a complex musical piece where every instrument has its part. I like the unruly little bit dangling over the edge too! How delightfully unexpected. Editor: That adds a certain life to the composition. Before, I saw it as quite conventional, but I see how he broke those conventions down to make it so original. Curator: And original *and* personal! That’s the real magic of art, isn't it? How something familiar, like a bunch of flowers, can reveal something entirely new when seen through the eyes – and the brushstrokes – of someone like Fantin-Latour. I am almost certain there is something autobiographical about that single flower lying apart, too...Food for thought!