STORY BEHIND THE ART OF DEBORAH SHAW

19th Annual International

American Society of Botanical Artists & The Horticultural Society of New York

"Tunas," Prickly Pear Cactus Fruit

Opuntia spp., Fruit

In Fall 2015 through Winter 2016, Bowers Museum in Santa Ana, California held a fascinating exhibition about the history of Cochineal, The Red that Colored the World. I taught a color-mixing workshop in conjunction with the exhibition, and participated with other members of BAGSC, our local ASBA chapter, in providing ongoing demonstrations during the five-month exhibition.

Cochineal (Dactylopius cossus) is from the “true bug” family Coccoidea. It is a scale insect, used (to this day) to make a vibrant red dye for cloth, makeup, and food. It had been domesticated and farmed in South America and Mexico by native peoples for centuries before the Spaniards arrived, and the Spanish quickly realized the economic importance of a red more saturated than any seen in the “Old World” and began shipping vast quantities to Spain.

The courtyard by the entrance to Bowers Museum is graced with an old, gigantic Optuntia spp. (Prickly Pear Cactus) specimen, serendipitously covered with Cochineal. In addition to demonstrating botanical art, I set up a dissecting scope so visitors could see the female Cochineal, the eggs and nymphs, the color, and even some Mealy Bug Ladybird (Ladybug) larvae who were feasting on the Cochineal.

One of the things I loved about the “Red” exhibition at Bowers was the audience. There was the employee from the Museum restaurant who came running over to show us a video on his phone of a lecture he had attended; it turned out he is a Master Dyer, and had gone down to Oaxaca, Mexico to take a Master Class in Cochineal. There was another visitor who had grown up on an Opuntia farm in Mexico; since his father was interested in fruit production for market, he and his siblings all had to go out and wash the Cochineal off the cacti. There were children from local schools who were proud of their heritage after seeing the exhibition and decided they would be scientists after looking at Cochineal through the scope. There were kids who sat and drew with us. There were organic chemists from the University, people on field trips from a fashion design school, clubs of weavers and dyers. The security guards at the museum took turns relieving each other so they could come over and look.

Growing up in Arizona, we ate the Prickly Pear pads, called by their Spanish name, Nopales, and the fruit, called Tunas. The pads had to be peeled (we used pliers and peeled them like you would a catfish). They had a slimy, glutinous texture like Okra when cooked. Consequently, as a child I didn’t like the Nopales salad, where the sliminess was on full display, but did love Nopalitos, which was the cactus chopped and scrambled with eggs.

We peeled the Tunas fruit and either ate them raw, or made Prickly Pear Jelly, which was both tart and sweet, and a gorgeous deep ruby red color. [If you are ever in an airport in Arizona, you can usually buy a jar of Prickly Pear Jelly in one of the stores.]

Here in Southern California you can buy Nopales and Tunas in season, already prepared at the regular supermarkets. We had them on display during our botanical art demonstrations at Bowers Museum, much to the fascination of visitors who did not know they were edible, and the delight of visitors who had eaten them all their lives.

During the run of this exhibition, I became enamored with the Cochineal, their life cycle, and how their life cycle was intertwined with that of the Opuntia. I have numerous drawings and studies, and have started a large (full sheet) painting of the cactus and the insects. When crushed, the insects are an exact match to Daniel Smith’s tube watercolor, Quinacridone Magenta!

As my obsession grew, every horizontal surface in my studio (and home) became covered with cactus paddles, spines, glochids (the almost invisible, highly irritating barbed spines that surround the areole of the cactus), and insects. I was given a quantity of Tunas, (Prickly Pear Fruits), or Cactus Pears. They were different colors, in different stages of ripeness, all from the same plant. They had a jewel-like quality about them, and demanded to be painted.

The Tunas in this artwork are painted actual size. I am drawn to horizontal compositions, and frequently find (after the fact) that my spacing between elements follows typographic rules. This painting certainly fits within that body of work. The glochids were the most difficult to paint; a subtle glowing gold, in perspective, with shadows on the individual spines.

I have continued to get specimens and am finishing the large painting. I started that painting on a full-sized sheet of Arches instead of vellum, as it was easier to transport and work on during the Bowers Museum demonstrations. In the studio, I had the Opuntia cactus paddle on plastic, on one side of the paper. The warm directional lighting must have caused the Cochineal eggs to hatch. All of the sudden there were billions of tiny magenta insects scurrying around the painting, under the protective tissue and plastic, each the size of a single dot of ink from a ball point pen. I couldn’t shake or brush them off, and trying to blow them off caused them to explode, leaving trails of magenta across the paper. Later I learned that the Cochineal dye works best with proteins (e.g., creating a richer color on wool or feathers as opposed to cotton). Arches is finished with natural gelatin sizing, and so inadvertently had the perfect surface for accepting the color. I’m incorporating the streaks into the painting.

I’m now on the hunt for the last piece of the insect’s life story, the tiny male Cochineal. In his final metamorphosis, the male emerges with no mouth parts. He lives a day or two at most, serving only one purpose.

My obsession continues.

 Next Story

Back to List

Read more about this artist’s work: 17th Annual International