Brevity: Thinking about Azaleas, Camellias, and Japanese Magnolias

It seems that the best things we experience in life are often the most short-lived. People wait in line for hours for a roller coaster that lasts a couple of minutes. People wait for years on a book only to devour it in a couple of days (that was me with every Harry Potter book after The Goblet of Fire). There are some things that through self-discipline we can learn to savor. On the other hand, there are things of which only the most fleeting form of enjoyment is possible.

The most beautiful blooms I know of are transitory.

Winter in South Alabama is itself fairly brief, but dreary nonetheless. A lot of artists prefer winter over summer because a plethora of greens can feel boring. Winter, though it looks depressing, affords the artist many options for color and composition, especially where I live. When I look out my window right now, I see mostly leafless trees and yellowed grass. The tree line has a backdrop of dark pines obscured by legions of skeletal branches. It's a depressed artist's wonderland.

Standing out from the gloom are the azaleas, the camellias, and the Japanese magnolias. The first one I noticed in the microcosm of my yard was the camellia. We have one near the street with blood-red blooms. They signal spring like the Robins and the honking Geese. The camellias burst out of the dark green like bright red taillights. I savor them almost every time I walk out my door, and I lament when they begin to wither. Such is life.

Next I noticed the Japanese magnolias. Different than our Southern magnolias, these blooms explode from twiggy branches that look unable to support such life and beauty. Rich magenta or lavender moving upward to a softer rose color. And for weeks those extravagant cups sit proudly on so many lawns in our area. Soon, they'll be gone. Such is life.

Right now, the azaleas are starting to make their way into the spotlight. For those who don't know, azaleas bloom twice a year (as do camellias, come to that). Our yard has a set of azalea bushes about sixty years old. They're a mess and we're in the process of cleaning them up so they can flourish (and so our neighbors can stop judging us). Even still, those bright purply pink blooms will find their way to shout for attention out of the tangled mess of brambles and intrusive volunteer plants. But soon and very soon, they'll be gone. Such is life.

Why do the most beautiful images in creation only last a while? I wonder sometimes if art is just another way of trying to preserve fleeting moments in time. Sunsets are the most elusive subjects to paint, yet they're one of the most popular subjects among representational landscape painters. There's a reason landscape painters refer to nature as a "drunk model": she won't sit still.

It's a morbid fact, perhaps, but every human being will reach his or her own sunset. Our blooms all wither. Art can help us savor the transient for a little longer, but art cannot prevent the seasons from changing.

I don't paint under any illusion that life as we know it can continue forever. However, I work with the hope that all creation will be renewed. And everyone, through faith in Christ, will be reborn and raised imperishable. Until that day, I will savor the beautiful sight of the Japanese magnolia, the azalea, and the camellia. And I will be sad when they're gone.

Until they come again.