All in the Detail

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“Nature is painting for us, day after day, pictures of infinite beauty, if only we have the eyes to see them.”
— John Ruskin

Hazel - Corylus avellana – watercolour by Jane Stark
Hazel Corylus avellana watercolour by Jane Stark 29 x 41.5cm framed size 43 x 55cm
Silver-gilt medal at Botanical & Floral Art in Bloom Exhibition, Phoenix Park, Dublin

All in the Detail

All in the Detail grew from my love of looking closely at the natural world around me — of discovering the quiet elegance in a stem, a seed head, or a drift of seaweed along the shore. As a botanical artist, I’m continually amazed by the patience and precision of nature’s design. Each line, vein, and curve has its own poetry, and painting them in watercolour feels like a way of honouring that beauty.

When I work, I begin with slow observation — sketching, studying, and getting to know each plant as if it were a new friend. I’m drawn to the small, easily overlooked things: the weathered leaf, the tangle of roots, the delicate translucence of marine algae. These are the details that tell nature’s quiet stories.

Through All in the Detail, I hope to share that sense of stillness and connection — to invite you to pause, look a little longer, and perhaps see the familiar world around you with fresh eyes. As Ruskin reminds us, nature is painting every day — we just need to stop and notice her work.

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The All in the Detail exhibition is taking place at Daróg Wine Bar, 56 Dominick Street, Galway City, H91 K225, Ireland, from Sunday 26 October 2025 to Monday 5 January 2026.

Daróg Wine Bar (Irish: small oak tree) proudly showcases the original works of talented local artists on their Gallery Wall. With a background in art and design, owner Edel’s vision was to create a space where creativity thrives – enhancing the atmosphere of the wine bar while providing a platform to showcase the vibrant talents of our community. Each year, they showcase six exhibitions, offering a rotating collection that celebrates diverse styles, mediums, and perspectives. Every piece displayed adds to the unique character of Daróg and offers guests the chance to connect with the heart of local artistry. Private viewings by appointment, available outside opening hours, email: edel@darogwinebar.com

As part of the exhibition, Daróg will host Le Chéile: An Evening of Creative Conversation on Monday 24 November, where Jane joins owner Edel Lukács in conversation about her creative process. The evening includes two wines paired for the discussion, a pop-up art shop, and 10% off artwork purchased on the night.

Tickets (€20 per person) — booking essential. https://www.darogwinebar.com/artevents

• • • • • •

The paintings in the exhibition are pictured below. All of them are for sale, and a price list can be obtained by emailing Edel Lukács at edel@darogwinebar.com.

Iris ‘Flight of Butterflies’ Watercolour 16.5 x 24cm framed size 31 x 38.5cm

I painted this graceful iris while dog-sitting for friends whose garden was a treasure trove of plants and shrubs. From a distance, the blossoms truly lived up to their name — a fluttering cloud of butterflies drifting on a summer breeze. Up close, the delicate veining on the unfurling buds recall the fragile wings of butterflies emerging from their cocoons. The challenge lay in capturing that sense of lightness — the translucent, papery thinness of each bloom.

Iris hollandica Dutch iris Watercolour 16.5 x 24cm framed size 31 x 38.5cm

One of my favourite spring bulbs, the Dutch iris, has a natural elegance that always brings to mind the sinuous lines of Art Nouveau. Its golden signal patches glow warmly against the deep blue of the falls, while the paler, translucent standards lend the flower a sense of lightness and fragility.

Hydrangea bracts Watercolour 33 x 10cm framed size 40 x 17cm

Although I find hydrangea bushes rather unremarkable in summer, their blooms offering little to tempt butterflies or bees, I am always captivated in autumn by the transformation of their fading bracts. As the colours soften into muted, papery tones, they reveal a quiet, fragile beauty that seems made for watercolour. Their subtle variations of hue and form invite endless study, and when laid side by side against a white background, they offer hours of painting pleasure.

Chondrus crispus Carrageen or Irish Moss Watercolour 25 x 25cm framed size 42 x 43cm

I first came to know carrageen while living in a small cottage on a windswept peninsula in the west of Ireland, where the sea shaped our every hour. Our nearest neighbour, a weathered, sea-wise woman, spent her days foraging among the rocky shores and tide pools that bordered our homes. She gathered this abundant red algae, dried it in the salt breeze, and made from it a pudding she swore by for soothing sore throats and chest colds. Though I could never quite acquire a taste for it, I am captivated by the carrageen itself, with its delicate, translucent fronds branching like sea-drawn lace, a treasure of the shore and a joy to paint.

Palmaria palmata Dulse Watercolour 25 x 27cm framed size 42 x 47cm

Like carrageen, dulse is a seaweed long gathered along western shores, dried and eaten as a leathery yet delicious and nourishing snack, or used to lend its rich flavour to cooking. I am drawn to its ragged, translucent fronds, often seen drifting in the shallows along the Connemara coast or washed ashore after rough weather, still clinging to the stipes of kelp. When held to the light, its segmented blades reveal a tapestry of colour: deep reds, soft purples, and rusty tones, all shifting and mingling like the hues of the sea itself.

Sorbus aucuparia Rowan Watercolour 23 x 22cm framed size 42 x 42cm

In autumn, the rowan tree glows with clusters of orange-red berries that shine against its green leaves, a feast for the eyes, and a lure for birds, foragers, and artists alike. Its species name, aucuparia, comes from the Latin avis, meaning bird, and capere, to catch, a fitting tribute to its long association with birdlife. Both fruit and foliage have found their way into traditional dishes, drinks, and remedies, and in Ireland, the rowan has long been cherished as a guardian tree, planted beside homes to keep away misfortune and wandering spirits.

Rumex acetosa Common sorrel Watercolour 27 x 41cm framed size 44 x 59.5cm

This native Irish species is a common yet often overlooked plant, dismissed by many as a simple weed. Known also as sour-leeks or sour-dock for the sharp, tangy bite of its leaves, it has long found a place in the kitchen as well as the hedgerow. Young leaves lend a refreshing zest to salads, and, as the 16th-century herbalist John Gerard recorded, were once made into a vivid green sauce to accompany fish. Today, foragers still gather them to make sorrel soup. When I discovered it growing quietly in a corner of my garden, I was captivated by its slender spikes of tiny red and green flowers, which appear from May to August, unexciting at first glance, yet under the microscope, revealing a world of intricate and unexpected beauty.

Rosa rugosa hips Irish name: Rós rúsacach Watercolour 27 x 38cm framed size 44 x 56cm

Also known as the Japanese rose, Rosa rugosa is not a native species, yet it has made itself at home along the western coasts of Ireland, where it has naturalised among the dunes and hedgerows. In autumn, its large, fleshy hips glow like small lanterns, prized by foragers for their rich Vitamin C content and gathered to make teas, syrups, and jams. The purplish-pink flowers are followed by the glossy fruit. It is a plant of undeniable charm, though one whose vigour has led it to be invasive.

Stapelia grandifolia Starfish flower Watercolour 30 x 32cm framed size 48.25 x 52cm
Silver medal at Botanical & Floral Art in Bloom Exhibition, Phoenix Park, Dublin

This strikingly beautiful succulent, a native of South Africa, belongs to the stapeliad family much loved by collectors. I was fortunate to paint a particularly fine specimen belonging to my husband. Its sturdy, velvety stems, with their compressed angles and neatly notched edges, take on a reddish hue when touched by the sun. The rounded buds open into extraordinary star-shaped flowers, densely covered in soft hairs. Their scent, reminiscent of rotting meat, has earned them the common name of “carrion flower”, yet their intricate form and subtle colouring make them a fascinating and memorable subject to paint.

Coming out of my Covid creative quagmire

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My watercolour of Heliamphora heterodoxa
at the National Gallery of Ireland

It looked like it was going to be a good year. As 2020 dawned, the future looked bright, and news from Wuhan, China on New Year’s Eve about a cluster of pneumonia cases of unknown origin appeared to have little relevance here in the west of Ireland. In a year that was to include a number of exhibitions, the highlight was to be the Drawn From Nature exhibition at the National Gallery of Ireland – an exciting look at the history of botanical art in Ireland, with the work of eminent artists such as William Kilburn, Ellen Hutchins, Lydia Shackleton, Raymond Piper and Wendy Walsh appearing alongside the work of some of Ireland’s best known contemporary botanical artists. I was honoured and delighted to be included amongst the latter, and looked forward to the opening, which would take place on Friday 6 March.

As the day of the opening approached, it became clear that those pneumonia cases were, in fact, linked to a new corona virus, and would have far-reaching global consequences. The world held its breathe and waited for the World Health Organisation (WHO) to declare a pandemic. The opening took place as planned – a happy and memorable evening, but we were all anxious about what might lay ahead of us. By then, Ireland had several cases of the virus and Italy had about 3,000 cases and 100 deaths. On 12 March, schools and colleges in Ireland were closed and on 24 March the country went into full lockdown. The National Gallery closed, along with all other museums and galleries. A year on from those momentous days, we are in lockdown again in Ireland as a second wave of the virus sent cases soaring.

Visitors at the opening of the Drawn from Nature exhibition in the National Gallery of Ireland
At the opening of the Drawn from Nature exhibition at the National Gallery of Ireland

Looking back at those early days of the pandemic feels quite surreal. The spring of 2020 in Ireland was unusually warm and sunny, and for those who were having to stay home – at least if you had a garden or access to nearby countryside, and if you had some kind of income – lockdown didn’t appear to be such a terrible thing. It seemed like a great opportunity to do some gardening, catch up with reading, listen to music, cook delicious meals . . . and for me, as an artist, it looked like a chance to paint all day without interruption – a luxury indeed!

Well . . . it didn’t turn out that way at all. It started out fairly well – I finished off a project that I had been working on, and I started another painting that I had wanted to do for some time. I designed a new book – Sceitse: Irish Botanical Sketchbooks for the Irish Society of Botanical Artists (ISBA), spent quite a lot of time gardening, stayed up late reading books, and changed to a whole food, plant-based diet. But somewhere along the way, it all went pear-shaped.

At first, I told myself that it was OK, that taking time to just chill out and do nothing was quite acceptable. I would like to say that it was a time of reflection, and more recently that would be true, but there were long months of nothing – no inspiration, no sense of purpose, no creativity, no joy. Sleep was elusive as one day merged into another. At some point, I began to realise that I was slipping into depression. It had happened to me before, many years ago, and I recognised the signs. I tried to fight it, and had some degree of success: I ate regular meals, got up in the morning (albeit often quite late) and showered, dressed and put on some makeup. It saved me from sinking deeper into depression, but each time I sat down to paint – if I even got that far – I felt paralysed. I would sit and reorganise my tubes of paint, or sort out my brushes, or look through one of my botanical art books, hoping that inspiration would strike.

I have tried to understand why I went through this period of existential gloom. I know that I was not the only creative person to feel like this, but I also know of others who were able to create in abundance. My efforts to figure it out have come to nothing, and to be honest, I am not sure that it is completely behind me. But I have started on the road back, and I have my daughter to thank for that. In addition to looking after her family, home-schooling two daughters during lockdown, developing her own fledgling craft business and learning new skills, she has also found time for us to talk and to share thoughts and ideas. She has allowed me to shed tears, made me laugh, and boosted my self-esteem when it was at low ebb. On a practical level, she helped me to declutter my space and to plan out my new studio, which has helped to clear my head and to give me a sense of freedom and new possibilities.

My new studio – a calm and sunny place in which to create.

As spring 2021 takes hold, I am ready to go forward and have plans for a number of paintings – more carnivorous plants, some Irish wildflowers, garden plants. There is no shortage of material. It is very tempting to try to make up for lost time by immediately plunging into a large painting, but I know that I am more likely to succeed if I begin with baby steps – some smaller watercolours, perhaps some graphite or pen and ink drawings. I have always been inclined to jump in at the deep end, spending long hours drawing and painting, and then running out of steam due to sheer tiredness. But one of the things that I have learned from my daughter is that I will get much further by breaking my day into manageable chunks, and taking breaks, going for a walk, spending some time in the garden . . .

Starting small . . .

Like many artists, I am not great at promoting and selling my work, which doesn’t help if you have bills to pay! My engagement with social media has always been somewhat half-hearted, but during the pandemic I discovered that for craftspeople and artists, platforms such as Facebook and Instagram can provide not only a supportive network of friends and fellow creatives, but also a way of building a positive, more personal relationship between producers and customers. I have always enjoyed knowing where my paintings, and even my prints and cards, are going – how they will be displayed or used, whether they have some special meaning for the buyer, what prompted someone to buy my work. The process of making a drawing or painting is so deeply personal, and it really matters that each one brings pleasure and even joy to its new owner.

With that in mind, if you would like to purchase anything that you see on this website or on my Instagram page, please do email me at info@janestark.net or send me a DM on my Instagram page janestark_botanicalartist. All payments by PayPal, but you do not need a Paypal account to make a payment. I am in the process of putting together a catalogue of paintings, prints and cards that I have for sale. If you would like a copy, please feel free to email me, or watch my Instagram page for more on that.

If you, too, have been struggling and need someone to talk to, please feel free to email or DM me, sometimes just sharing the thoughts you’re having is enough to help you start feeling better.

All images are copyrighted by Jane Stark
and may not be reproduced without written permission

Stapelia grandiflora – a work in progress