More tuberose! Can't stop now.

Still drawing these babies to death, as they wither before my eyes. 

The dying blossoms are like little white gloved hands grasping at the air until they finally wither and shrink into tiny brown husks. 

It's all about the moment and the dialogue. The flower speaks to me, I speak to the drawing, the drawing speaks back to me, and so on. Sometimes there's a little shouting, sometimes a whisper. It's never boring.