Why are we drawn to aloes? Is it their alien-ness? Do we sense that perhaps, just around the corner, there may be a dinosaur munching on their thorny leaves? For years, aloes were regarded as a curiosity, a plant out of time, valued by some indigenous communities who had used them for generations in traditional medicine but mostly known for their blooms' dramatic ability to light up arid landscape. But in the last thirty-odd years, aloes have burst into our everyday lives for their healing qualities. Frances McDonald, in The Fire Portrait, is fascinated by them, especially Aloe buhrii, the "pink, armoured" aloe she finds in the veld near Aloe Glen.
I have a personal memory of aloes...
Many years ago I studied for a degree in Pharmacy at Rhodes University in the Eastern Cape province of South Africa. One of my courses/modules was Pharmacognosy, the study of plants that have medicinal value. We were taught by a brilliant Norwegian, Professor Egil Ramstad, whose favourite occupation was to get his students out of the lecture hall and into the field. His interest, at that time, was aloes. I remember one particular practical session in the local Botanical Gardens. To our horror, the venerable Prof broke off a small piece of Aloe vera, showed us the dripping sap, tasted it, and announced that one day aloes would be famous and we should pay attention...
When it came to deciding which plant might catch the attention of my English heroine, who'd been raised on gentle subjects like roses, my mind went back to that day in the Botanical Gardens. It had to be aloes. And not just any aloe, but one of the most arresting of the species, a worthy challenge to the artist in Frances.
It would require the blending of rose madder, viridian and ochre, along with brushwork of the utmost precision to reflect the plant's colour, its harsh lines and the tentacled leaves clasped around its heart, as if in prayer...
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