Familiar Indian Flowers by Lena Lowis



Selina "Lena" Caroline Shakespear Lowis, my maternal great, great grandmother
Lithograph & description of Bignonia Venusta
Familiar Indian Flowers by Lena Lowis
London: M&N Hanhart Lithographers

   The brilliant appearance this creeper exhibits when in full blossom, in the months of February and March, cannot be described. The branches of tubular orange-coloured flowers, drooping amidst the bright, shining leaves, form a lovely spectacle.

   It requires a strong support, and will often climb up high trees. The lower stems have a bare and unsightly appearance, if the plant is allowed to get too straggling in its growth; it should, therefore, be severely pruned to keep it within bounds.

   The tubular throat is sometimes two inches long, while the lip is curved back, exposing the green stamens. There are some eight or ten flowers on each bunch, and when the entire plant is covered with these gorgeous heads of blossom, it presents a perfect blaze of colour, and is most ornamental.

   It is native of India, and may be seen in all parts. If allowed to trail on the ground it will send out roots at the joints of the leaves, forming young plants.

   The usual mode of propagation, however, is by cuttings, which take most readily. The young tendrils are of a pale, greenish colour, and very soft and pretty.

   I cannot find any flower of this name in Roxburgh, but his description of "Bignonia Grandiflora" so agrees with this that I think they must be identical. Many of the Bignoniaceae are large and handsome trees, but these I have never seen. Roxburgh mentions one, "Bignonia Undulata," which has the same coloured flowers as our specimen; but it is a large tree, with a trunk as thick as a man's thigh.

   There is another pretty variety, called by Ferminger "Bignonia Incarnata." It is almost white, with a deep lilac or purple inside the throat.

   The leaves of this specimen are heart-shaped, some being three or four inches long, smooth, and very numerous.



A Watercolor by Selina Caroline Shakespear Lowis

 

 

This watercolor is by my maternal great, great grandmother, Selina "Lena" Caroline Shakespear Lowis who wrote and illustrated the book, Familiar Indian Flowers . She painted the above watercolor while she and  my great great grandfather, Lieutenant Colonel Ninian Lowis, were living in India. He was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Bental Staff Corps during the Indian Mutiny.

Hand-Painted plate by Selina Caroline Shakespear Lowis.

 

American Scream



 American Scream
Mixed Media on Canvas
Endangered Species Series, 2008

SOLD, 2011
American Scream, Endangered Species Series, 2008  

SOLD, 2010
It's Always Been True,  Endangered Species Series, 2008  



Anatomy Perspective

Collage, 2008

San Francisco Art Institute, 2002-2003

With classmates at the beginning of  our MFA Program

Giving an art talk to be followed by a critique

Figure Emerging with Circle
Mixed Media on Paper, 2002

Study of Wave Trap Spiracles
Graphite on Paper, 2002

Untitled
Mixed Media on Paper, 2003
 

Enjoying a night out on the town with fellow classmates

 

Freeway
Mixed Media on Paper, 2003
 

My work hung and ready for an exhibit and critique
 

Relaxing with fellow artists at a North Beach cafe

Taking a quick break in my studio on the SFAI campus 

At work in my studio on an abstract painting
 

My studio at the San Francisco Art Institute

Teachers: Pegan Brooke, Stephanie Ellis, Jamie Brunson

Directed Study: Christoper Brown, Mark Perlman




Curvilinear Paintings and Drawings, 2003-2010



Diagnosis II: Crumbling Castles
Acrylic on Canvas, 2010



Augury I
Mixed Media on Paper, 2007

  

Untitled
Mixed Media on Paper, 2007

Gathering Clouds
Mixed Media on Paper, 2007

Dots, Lines, and Dashes
Mixed Media on Paper, 2007

Curvilinear with Bird
Mixed Media on Paper, 2007

Butterfly
Mixed Media on Paper, 2007

Sleeping Woman
Mixed Media on Paper, 2007

Augury II
Mixed Media on Paper, 2007

Why this inclination towards the curvilinear in my work? After my parents passed away I began learning more about my ancestry and realized my Celtic roots might have something to do with it. Frank Delaney in The Celts describes Celtic art in the following, "the deepest basis of Celtic art grew from a primordial dependence upon the natural life experienced in the emergent Europe north of the Alps, east of, and along the Danube Valley - or, come to that, in the sloping fields of what is now Herfordshire, or Northumbria, or Wicklow. The early motifs showed great consistency of pattern, geometric, angular shapes, concentric circles, whorls, lozenges, revolving spirals, chevrons, cross-hatched repeating patterns - mechanical, auto-suggested means of filling a blank space on a pot. Later, the images of small creatures begin to materialise, swans, ducks horses: on the lid of a Hallstatt bucket, a goat, a sphinx, a lion, a deer...to the Greeks a spiral is a spiral and a face is a face and it is always clear where the one ends and the other begins, whereas the Celts 'see' the faces 'into' the spirals or tendrils."

Wikipedia paraphrase - Like nature itself, Celtic art abhorred a straight line, pushed organic influences - observed in trees, plants, water, the earth - to deliciously abstracted infinity. In Celtic art there is no beginning, no middle, no end as it ultimately becomes its own inner world through freedom of movement.







The Fishermen of Naxos

 Journal Excerpt - May 19, 1976 - The Fishermen of Naxos
 

During our first night on Naxos, the largest and most fertile island in the Cyclades, there was a shadow over the lower right side of the moon and, having left a love back home, I couldn't help but wonder if it looked that way in California. At the time, I considered it an omen for me and my travel companion that some intriguing events were about to unfold.

We had only been traveling for two months but had already been on fourteen boats, not counting an eight-day cruise aboard the Leonard Da Vinci www.thegreatoceanliners.com/leonardodavinci.html which had transported us from New York to Naples for a student fare of two-hundred and fifty dollars. Especially memorable were our fellow passengers, three full Italian meals per day served by handsome Italian waiters, magnificent on deck views of the Atlantic, and a surprising encounter with David Bowie which is another story.

Alot had happened to us before we'd arrived on Naxos but we had yet to be taken out on a boat by Greek fishermen. Initially, I had serious concerns about being on the Mediterranean with Greek men as I had already witnessed the fine art of kamaki and was reading Zorba the Greek by Kazantzakis. My imagination was running wild as usual and my mother had successfully instilled a cautionary sense in me. But, after a week spent getting acquainted with the locals we accepted an invitation to go fishing off Apollon, located at the northernmost tip of the island.  In a few days, we were helped aboard a brightly painted boat and greeted by four other American women. There was Mary, an energetic blonde, and Patty, whose contagious laughter came easily and often. Then, we met Heidi from Seattle who was heartbroken having returned to Naxos, after a three year absence, in search of her old lover, Nikitis, who no longer lived there. And, finally, we were introduced to Jackie, torn between accepting a scholarship at Smith or remaining on the island with her lover, Niko. It was his boat and since I had already observed the inherent sensuality of Greek men, I could easily empathize with Jackie's difficult decision.

Our boat drifted lazily through limpid, turquoise waters as seagulls caught our breeze off the stern and floated effortlessly there as though anxiously awaiting an opportunity to scoop up fish with their pointy little beaks. Time passed quickly and before long Niko set anchor off a private cove where deep golden light illuminated the sculpted white rock emerging fearlessly into translucent water. It was growing warmer so the men removed their shirts and began to busily prepare the day's catch. The rest of us shared a bottle of retsina and joined together in an exuberant toast to Bacchus, god of wine, who Heidi explained had married Ariadne after being forsaken by Theseus on Naxos. Respectful of her recent disappointment, we all grew silent until Mary opened a jar of olives and we quickly resumed our lively conversation.

Meanwhile, Niko and the other four fishermen were preoccupied with bundling up sticks of dynamite. We stared in amazement as they heaved them into quiescent waters causing them to explode one by one, each time spraying up a fountain of water only a few feet from our boat. Dozens of fish instantly rose to the surface, their silver bodies glistening in the late morning sun. Were they dead or merely stunned? We tried to convince ourselves that the survivors would regain consciousness and return safely to the pristine depths. In retrospect, we were quite naive. Two of the men hauled in a huge net, trapping the fish, open-eyed, their slippery wet skin causing a pungent, yet oddly intoxicating odor to permeate our boat combined with coconut oil, the sweat of the fishermen, and the sweet ambrosia of spring.

We watched with curiosity as the men scraped off the scales then cut behind the gills to clean out the innards. Next, a final slice down the middle to extract the entrail. After this process was completed, we gathered up our things then climbed to a spectacular site overlooking the vast Aegean Sea, a proud and dazzling gem, stretching endlessly before us. Soon the men started heating the coals and everyone pitched in at their own pace. I offered to help Patty with the task of peeling potatoes and she quietly advised me to remove the brown spots or Niko would throw them out. It struck me as ironic that such a culinary detail would concern the same person who had just overwhelmed us with his pyrotechnics. But, what eventually resulted was a delicious feast of fresh fish, potato stew, bread, cheese, more retsina and Citro, a lemon-flavored liqueur that made us pleasantly high and grateful the next morning that we had learned from the Greeks to always include food with our drinks. We happily spent the afternoon telling stories and singing songs, light years away from earthly responsibilities back home.

Later that evening, we reunited with everyone for a fiesta at Niko's favorite taverna where he danced like a madman as waiters served him shots of ouzo from a well worn tray. Entranced, we watched as with one quick motion he'd toss the liquor back then, with dark eyes burning, he'd bite into the glass and slam the broken remains down on the tray. Each time, he'd hit the bottom of the tray with his palm sending the glass flying through the air then crashing noisily to the ground. Jackie watched her lover with a resolute expression of desire and frustration as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. This time, I remember thinking, history will reverse itself and Ariadne will abandon Theseus.

It was our last night on Naxos and only a half moon was visible as the haunting strains of a violin accompanied by a santouri and lyra filled the sultry night air. As the sky slowly darkened, we celebrated these fleeting, new found friendships, our parea, with shots of ouzo and apple slices. Then, we danced through the star filled night around and around, our sunburned arms holding each other up, our young hearts desperately hoping  the music would never end.