Where I live in Arizona there are no hydrangeas, other than what one can pick up at the store. When I lived in Oregon, they were all over the place. Those big fat flowers would come in all sizes and shapes, loaded with color variance depending on what was in the soil.
So when I picked up a bunch of store-bought hydrangea blooms and coaxed them through a week, they became the accidental inspiration for a canvas I had already painted and framed. This canvas was previously dark and misty, a scene I had attempted of a mysterious bayou with the light of the moon shining through the trees. Unfortunately, it looked more like I had attacked the canvas with blue paint and a few splotches of white.
Luckily, oil paint is so flexible. The final product of this latest incarnation was as if I were standing below a field of hydrangeas, simply enjoying the view. Much better than the attack of blue paint.