It is hot here. Not as hot as some parts of the world, but hotter than usual for June, and hotter than I like it. I am a cool weather girl, I never mind pulling on an extra layer, or basking in front of a roaring fire. What I don’t like is the sticky feeling of a humid British summer.

So at this time in the year I try to plan smaller, simpler pieces. Something bright and cheerful, but not too complex for my grumpy overheated brain to cope with. Last year I had fun painting splashy butterflies and moths, so much fun I am teaching other people how to do it this summer (check out my summer workshops if you are local to me!). This year I thought perhaps something a little bigger, maybe birds with flowers.

To begin with, I was considering perhaps a blue tit or great tit. Something sweet, with a bit of colour. I started sketching, but look…

Somehow, I ended up with starlings. And they are looking less sweet, and more angry.

Starlings have a right to be angry. They are a red listed bird in the UK, and have been for many years, despite their adaptability. Modern agricultural practices make it harder for them to find their preferred foods of leatherjackets and earthworms, which are also affected by the hotter summers caused by climate change. Loss of habitat is also making it harder for them to survive winter. I’m angry about this too, which perhaps made the decision to just go with it, to paint a starling easier.

Next to choose a flower. A few years back I drew starlings over irises, matching them for their joint symbolism of communication and messages. Also, the purple of bearded iris reflects those gorgeous iridescent starling feathers. I imagined a starling in flight, calling it’s message with a wreath of irises spilling out behind it. But no, this starling had other ideas. Once I started drawing, it became clear that what he really needed was an allium. Perhaps for the tiny star-shaped flowers, like the stars in a starling’s name. Perhaps for its symbolism of unity, a hope for humans and nature to unite to save our world. Or perhaps for its toxicity to cats, one of starlings’ main predators.

I love alliums. I am fascinated by the tight round shape formed from so many little stars that radiate from a central stalk. I planted a few of these globes in my garden three years back, and wait avidly for them to bloom every year since. I do love alliums. I do not love drawing alliums. Try, and you will quickly discover what a challenge they can be. And this painting did not want to be just a soft suggestion of alliums, it wanted clear lines and all that complex detail. Okay. Fine. I can do that.

Starling and allium drawn out, and I thought I could at last paint. But no. There is something missing, something orange. Not a colour one might usually pair with purple, but this starling was communicating a clashing, angry message, for which orange was vital. And so the geums became part of the image. They are a symbol of purity, perhaps a wish for a purification of the earth. I’m not sure, and I know I am no longer in control of this painting.

Finally ready to paint, I spent a whole Sunday carefully purpling each of those little allium stars, a task that had me cross eyed and confused by the end of it, but pleased with myself and optimistic for the future of this painting.

But this angry starling is not willing to let go just yet. Monday morning had me sending annoyed splashes of purple paint across my beautifully painted alliums. A spray of irritation, and exasperation at the humans of this world that don’t notice how few insects there now are in our gardens, that continue to pump carbon into our atmosphere whilst chainsawing the trees that might have a chance of removing it, that bemoan the noise and squabbles of starlings on the bird feeder.

when a painting runs away with me

art is science