Tulipmania

There is a moment in early spring, standing at the edge of a tulip field, when the sheer excess of it stops you mid-step. Alexandra Bailliere knows that moment well. Her painting plants you right inside it — not above the field, not at a polite distance, but knee-deep among the blooms, surrounded on all sides by burgundy, coral, blush and green, with only a thin strip of pale sky to remind you there is a world beyond this glorious overflow. Bailliere grew up drawing and has spent decades learning to trust the distance between what she sees and what she feels. In this painting those two things are beautifully inseparable. The dark, velvety tulips in the foreground feel almost somber beside their blushing neighbours — like the quiet ones at the party who turn out to be the most interesting. Behind them, wave after wave of warm pinks and oranges press toward the light, and the whole canvas breathes with the layered, gestural energy that defines her practice. This is the kind of painting that changes with the light and with your mood. On a grey morning it is a reminder that abundance is possible. On a bright afternoon it simply sings. It is a painting made by someone who believes, deeply, that beauty appears in the places we almost walk past — and who has the skill to make you stop.