This scent of a freshly-picked orange is so foreign to me, an Oregonian. I know grocery store oranges. I know sassy apples; I know soft, yielding pears; I know coy wild strawberries teased out of the tangle of grasses, but this… so tempting, so voluptuous. Maybe the fact that eating a fresh orange would result in a painful outbreak of blisters on my lips heightens the desire.
I sketched this orange in my journal, having forgotten my sketchbook… The writing on the other side of the page showed through when I scanned the sketch, a nice bit of pentimento…I tried again to capture the bursting scent the next morning, same orange, different paper. I wanted to repeat the translucent quality of the shadow reflecting back onto the skin, highlight the tiny navel, but not sure it worked as well the first sketch.