Original painting © D. Yael Bernhard
Last weekend I finished illustrating a children’s book, and for the first time in months had a chance to put away my acrylics and take out my oil paints. The former is used for illustration; the latter, for fine art painting that is generally larger and less detailed. The viscous and sensual quality of oils is such a pleasure, I could not tear myself away from this painting, and finished it in one day, taking a break only to get outside in the autumn sunshine to plant garlic and dig up dandelion roots in my garden. Squatting on the earth and getting my hands dirty, I was tempted to smear the soil directly onto the canvas with my fingers. It would have been appropriate for this image of connecting to the earth.
If you’ve ever grown beets, you’ve probably experienced the miracle of pulling up what looks like a living jewel out of the ground. Cutting it open and seeing the concentric rings of vibrant magenta inside is enough to bring tears to my eyes. I don’t know if it’s pride for having facilitated the growth of this living thing with my own hands; or gratitude for the earth’s gift of nourishment so fresh and vital, it’s unmatched by anything money can buy.
In this case, the painting is both a work of personal expression and has also been put to use as an illustration. My latest article for my Art of Health newsletter – titled One Step Closer: Reconnecting Food to Nature, just published yesterday – features a cropped version of the painting. In the article, I write about food in its original form – whole food, or food that is prepared or cooked at home – as opposed to processed or ultra-processed food, and the many gradations in between. Thinking about food as a primary source of connection to nature is part of my mission as a health and nutrition coach – and as an artist. My writing and art are intertwined, and as I complete my first year of writing about nutrition, images come to mind that express our relationship with food. Plants and animals are certainly beautiful enough to portray as themselves; botanical illustration, for example, is an art unto itself. But somehow the shape of a root or a mushroom suggests a visual correlation to our human geometry that is more interesting to me. In my years as a hunter, I explored the relationship between hunter and prey in my art; now as I’m increasingly inspired to write about nutrition – and to help others heal their relationship with food – new images that express this theme are rising up from my unconscious. Hands and heart, arms and head and torso become receptacles that embrace and enshrine the gifts of the earth.
Beets don’t just resemble a heart (and the sound of the word that describes its rhythm), they also help the heart by stimulating the production of nitric oxide, a cardiovascular signaling molecule that dilates blood vessels and improves circulation (read more about that here). When meaning and form come together, that’s what breathes life into an image, and crystallizes a hidden ingredient that may be found both in food and art. That ingredient is love – not romantic love, but a deep affection that abides in our love of nature, in knowing ourselves as one with nature. I felt this affection for the dandelion roots as I washed them and laid them out to dry, to be steeped into a liver-nourishing root infusion. The garlic cloves will sleep under the earth through the winter, to emerge along with the first green leaves of spring. So too will new ideas gestate through the long dark months, waiting to unfold when the time is right.
As in life, so in art.
This painting is for sale; please inquire if you’re interested.
A good week to all!
D Yael Bernhard
http://dyaelbernhard.com
children's books • fine art • illustration
posters • cards • calendars