I've been thinking lately about where it all began.
Not the painting - I mean the *obsession*. The deep, cellular, can't-explain-it
L O V E of flowers and botanical things that runs through everything I make and everything I am.
I keep coming back to the same place. A blessed childhood.

The garden that made me

My parents worked hard for our home - and in those days, big Auckland sections were easier to come by. Home life was outdoor living. A certain pride in what you grew and tended and made beautiful. Vases of freshly cut flowers, preserving plums, apple and rhubarb crumble, delivering fruit to elderly neighbours. What a time.

I remember warm summer evenings - that golden Auckland light - Dad doing the weeding while I followed behind with the hose, watering the flowers in my jelly shoes. They were basically gumboots with ventilation (I was city not country, you guys). Anyway, he trusted me with that. A little girl with a hose, glittery shoes, and a very important job. Hah!

Mum came from rural communities where working the land was essential. Dad came from Coventry - grey skies, terraced houses - and I think when he found himself in Auckland with a big section and a warm climate, something in him just opened. He took to that garden like it was the most important project he'd ever undertaken.

Because maybe it was.

*A regular weekend outing. Dad and I at the exotic plants greenhouse, Auckland domain. Circa 1986*

Aunt's garden up north

If home was beautiful, my great aunt's place in Okaihau, Bay of Islands, was another world entirely.

About an acre of garden in that extraordinary northern climate - rich volcanic soil, warmth, humidity - every tropical plant you could imagine growing in absolute abundance. We'd spend school holidays up there, and I remember just living in that garden. Looking through rows of flower beds for her cats and stray golf balls while she tended her plants with a quiet devotion I now completely understand.

Those summers have imprinted themselves somewhere deep in my cells. I'm certain of it.

When I first started painting “seriously”, two of my very first botanical pieces were abstract expressionist florals. I called them Aunt's Garden 1 and 2. I didn't really plan those titles. They just came out.

They sold almost immediately. Which surprised me at the time.

But now I believe, people feel when something is painted from a real place.

Flower Day

*Reference pic from Pinterest - glad to see that some schools are still doing this - So much fun!*

Back in the eighties, a lot of schools had something called Flower Day. I took it very seriously.

Sand saucers, buttonholes, aqua jars, vege animals...categories to enter, prizes to win, classmates to quietly and lovingly outshine.

But here's what I remember most - and this says everything about my mum.

A lot of my classmates didn't have big gardens at home. State housing, South Auckland council flats with no gardens - so no flowers to bring.

Mum always knew this. Every single Flower Day, without fail, she'd go out before school/work and cut armfuls of flowers from our garden - enough for my arrangements, and enough to share around so every child who wanted to participate, could.

I loved walking in with that big full basket of blooms. I was so proud of her for this. So kind and thoughtful.

Flowers are for everyone. Beauty is for everyone. She taught me that before I had words for it.

The orchid painting

When I was eleven, my art teacher submitted a piece I'd done to a large citywide colouring competition - hundreds of schools, thousands of entries.

The image we'd been given to colour was a cluster of orchids.

I took mine home and coloured it in paint with oil pastels overtop (sound familiar). I put red next to pink. Orange next to green. Made it clash and loud and extra. And then - because I simply couldn't help myself - I added extra orchids in the background that weren't even there. lol.

Months passed. I forgot about it entirely.

Then one Sunday, mum and dad said there was a flower show on. Did I want to go? Of course I did.

We walked in, and as I moved toward the main display table, I could see - from a distance - that one of the pieces up there was mine. I recognised it immediately. The extra orchids. The clashing colours. The paint instead of pencil.

I felt my face go hot. That rushing feeling of - oh my goodness that's MINE!

I turned back to show mum and dad - and saw their faces. They were smiling. Trying not to laugh. Little smirks they couldn't quite contain.

They'd known all along. They'd brought me as a surprise.

I placed third. I felt like a celebrity - hah!

Afterwards, the judge pulled me aside privately and told me that if it had been up to her, I would have placed first - but the other judges felt I'd broken the rules by adding elements that weren't in the original image.

I remember smiling and thanking her. And then privately, quietly, thinking -

That makes sense BUT I would do it all again exactly the same way.

Because it was uniquely beautiful. And no amount of rule-following would have made it more mine.

More was and is more. More colour. More layers. More story. More orchids in the background that weren't even asked for.

Present Day

Wild Walls - the collection I'm currently creating - is the fullest expression of that philosophy I've ever attempted. Large scale. Neon. Layered. Botanical. Full of portals and creatures emerging from the dark into the light.

It started with a garden in Auckland.

It started with daddy-daughter days at the botanical gardens.

It started with mum sending me to school with armfuls of flowers to share.

It started with a little girl who couldn't help adding extra orchids.

And it's only just beginning.

Briar x

P.S. The Wild Walls collection are large scale original pieces painted entirely from the heart. Watch this space.

Briar LOVES Blooms 4ever - Our origin story

Why are you holding back?