28 Sept -2024,
Dear Sonia,
In our last conversation, you asked me a difficult question that has kept me thinking for days: Why do you paint trees? Why are you hypnotized by them? What do they mean to you?
To be honest, I don’t fully know the answer myself. I know that I’m deeply drawn to nature and know how it enhances my soul when i feel it —not just trees, but also flowers, mountains, the sky,the wind, the sunrises and sunsets, the way sunlight hits leaves, and the fog. It all fascinates me and all of them make me smile.
When I paint trees, I’m always drawn to the huge, the majestic ones—the ones that are old, that the branches are strong, and tall. I love trees that bloom, that makes us stop, and take our breath. There’s something about their resilience and wisdom that fascinates me. They’ve lived through seasons, weathered storms, and yet they bloom again.
And I’ve been reflecting on something else. Every artist, I believe, has a special painting—one they would never sell, one they probably gift- one that is the most emotional for them to paint . I feel like one of Van Gogh’s might be “The Almond Tree,” though this is just my opinion. He painted it for the birth of his nephew, who was named after him. It wasn’t just a painting—it was a gift for the son of the most important person in his life: his brother Theo. And for my surprise” it was a tree”.
In a letter to Theo, Vincent described the painting with great tenderness:
“I’ve made a picture for them of a branch of a blossoming almond tree against a blue sky. Big branches against the blue.” He once said, “The almond tree is one of the first trees to bloom, a symbol of new life and hope.” This wasn’t a random choice—Van Gogh saw the almond tree as representing the beauty and renewal of spring, perfectly fitting for the birth of his nephew.
I’m not entirely sure if “The Almond Tree” was one of Van Gogh’s most important paintings—this is just what I feel. As artists, we get so emotional that what we paint becomes a part of our soul, and some paintings end up feeling like extensions of our body. For example, I know Fernando Botero’s favorite painting was “Pedrito,” a portrait of his eight-year-old son who had passed away. When Botero gave it to the Museo de Antioquia in Colombia, his other son asked him why he was giving away his most important painting. Botero replied, “You know it’s a good gift when it hurts to give it away.”
Last year, I painted a Yarumo tree and gave it to my father when we found out he had cancer. I thought that was my best painting, and it was meant to be for me. But Yarumo trees are his favorite, and he always talks about their beauty. It hurt to give it to him, so I knew, in Botero's words, that it was a great gift. That painting holds so much personal meaning to me, just like “The Almond Tree” must have for Van Gogh, or “Pedrito” for Botero.
So why trees? I think trees, for many of us, symbolize something deeper. They stand through the years, they endure hard times, they grow, they change, they provide life and shelter, and they have this quiet strength. Every person, I believe, has a special and favorite tree, either from their childhood or connected to their heritage.
I live in a city that was once the most violent in the world, the city of Pablo Escobar. But now, its the most beautiful one. The highways are lined with trees, and people here constantly talk about their flowers and the Guayacanes in front of their windows. We have a culture that celebrates flowers. Perhaps that’s why I paint trees—they represent resilience, survival, beauty, and life itself. They hold stories in their roots and branches, stories I’m trying to tell through my work.
Warmly,
Camila