May Painter's Post Virtual Journal, Issue No. 2

My Process for This Issue:

Since May brings the beginning of summer—and with it magnolias and daylilies—I had quite a bit to prepare for this issue. I planned two prints: a 4” x 6” satin magnolia and a 4” x 6” watercolor daylily, which meant creating two original paintings to start.

Magnolias were easy enough to find, but the daylilies were another story. Mine hadn’t bloomed yet by late April as I was finishing this issue, and with an early mailing planned ahead of Mother’s Day, I found myself chasing blooms. That meant a short trip to gardens further South, where the daylilies were just beginning to open—perfect timing, even if it felt a bit close.

Daylilies have always felt like a happy flower to me. I can’t remember a summer without seeing my mother tending to them—digging, dividing, replanting, and sharing them with friends. There’s something deeply familiar and comforting about them.

For the daylily painting, I chose to push the color a bit further than usual—leaning into richer saturation and a more expressive palette. Soft teals and aquas in the background felt like the perfect complement to the fresh lime and spring greens of the foliage, while setting off those warm, peachy petals in a way that made them quietly glow.

When I began to set up the magnolia oil painting, I took a different approach—leaning into a more classic, timeless palette. I built up darker undertones first, using deeper greens like viridian and phthalo to suggest the glossy weight of magnolia leaves. From there, I layered soft, sheer glazes—cerulean, Naples, and touches of lemon yellow—to create the creamy, almost iridescent quality of the blossoms. It’s a slower process, but one that allows those wide, delicate petals to hold both softness and depth.

Both magnolias and daylilies require a certain patience to paint. Their blooms are delicate and fleeting, and the light changes quickly. As a plein air painter, I focus first on capturing the essential shapes, values, and color while everything is still fresh, leaving the finer details for later in the studio.

 I worked standing at my Sienna plein air box beneath the shade of longleaf pines as I began to paint the magnolias. Once I was satisfied with my study, I brought the painting inside to finish it. My light had changed and the sun was baking my canvas!

However, the daylily watercolor was a quieter, simpler session—painted from a lawn chair with my little watercolor palette: just enough room to hold the cold-pressed paper on a cigar-box style pochade, my paints on my lap, brushes, and a bit of water.

It’s in moments like these—painting outdoors—that I’m reminded why I love plein air so deeply. There’s something about breathing in that fresh, green air while creating that feels restorative, almost like a quiet meditation. The work begins to move on its own, as if guided by something just beneath the surface. It’s a kind of creative rhythm that simply can’t be found within the confines of studio walls.

The results felt a little magical—time spent doing what I love on a South Georgia early summer afternoon, when the air is still soft and the heat hasn’t yet settled in.