Ah Sunflower, Weary of Time

I first heard this William Blake poem on the Fug’s First Album back in 1966. While it may not be everyone’s cup of tea, this song/poem always plays in my mind when I see sunflowers. The Fugs were a sort of beat, punk, folk, psychedelic, satirical, political, underground rock band formed in 1964 in New York’s East Village. Back in those early days of FM radio and underground rock, the Fugs were breaking all of the taboos and I loved them for it, being stuck in ultraconservative, time-warped San Diego.

I was a high school girl who’d recently ditched her surfer-girl persona to become a beatnik poseur, dressing in the requisite black clothes, black berets, and white lipstick, reading poetry, and trying to look depressed and intellectual. I eventually moved to New York’s East Village myself and was horribly disappointed to discover that the beatniks were long gone, having been replaced by wannabe hippies from New Jersey.

I didn’t think I had anything to say about the sunflowers I painted tonight but there’s a story in everything it seems. These were drawn with a Lamy Safari pen with Fine nib and Noodlers Ink in the large Moleskine watercolor notebook, then painted with watercolor. I like the way the Noodlers works with watercolor. It’s not 100% waterproof so a little of it washes off and disappears and the lines soften just a tiny bit when you paint over them.