A bunch of beautiful pink roses in an opalescent blue vase. This little grouping is messing with my mind and stirring up memories.
The first memory is of a drawing I made repetitively when I was little. The elements were always the same: beautiful girls in ball gowns in a landscape of fruit trees with a stream running through. It was the land of perfection in my child's mind.
The second is the memory of a painting I did about 10 years ago with approximately the same colors. The painting took about a month to complete and felt so saccharine, busy, and so... Baroque, I had it sanded down and made a different painting. That's how I feel about these elements. They are too pretty, too sweet for my tastes. Only this time it's simply a morning involved and not a month.
Way back when I was that young girl making those drawings, it was probably Easter time when I stood in the Hecht Company Department Store looking for the annual spring dress my parents bought for each of us girls. I fought with my desire to have yet another poofy dress, and choose one that was taylored and simple. It was a defining moment. That year I went from being a girlie girl (of princess loving and playing house variety) to a tom boy (Fort building, frog catching, woods crawling). In my childhood archetype, the poofy dresses went by the wayside. I kept the love of fruit trees and streams.There is a girlie, girl in there somewhere. Guess she still needs to express herself.
And as for the fruit trees, I present to you an Arkansas Black.
These flowers are from my garden and a minor foraging excursion around the block. I live outside our downtown area in an old Italian neighborhood. Almost all my neighbors have some form of garden or other and they don't mind a little clipping, as we trade flowers and lemons. My fairly small amount of flowers and foliage turned into another fun experiment of making an arrangement and changing it slightly. That's about it, except I've been meaning to credit my husband Jon for designing and building the often used vase pedestal/bracket. I had been wanting something small to hang on the wall specifically for vases. We use to build and sell them many years ago and I haven't seen anything like it since. Thanks, Jonny.
I don't think it's the flowers
that have caused that look. I think there may be crows in the hood. Buddy relates to crows like no other animal. He talks crow talk to them from the window a lot. I have a fantasy that one will befriend him someday. How cool it would be to see him sitting side by side with a big black bird, cackling together. I'll keep you posted.
Ammi majus sounds like some kind of Hindu mantra- Hari Krishna, Hari Krishna, Ammi majus, Ammi majus.....
This is the Latin name of the flower I've known as Queen Anne's Lace, though it's really False Queen Anne's Lace- or Bullwort, Bishop's Weed, False Bishop's Weed and on and on.
I bought a bunch the other day at the Farmer's Market and came home regretting it. I decided I did not like Ammi majus anymore. No not at all, Sam I am. It was seen through the eyes of a bored lover after the flame has fizzled. Why did I buy it?
Poor flower. Then the challenge- how can I see it with eyes anew? It's play time. Ammi majus is a member of the carrot family, the same as dill, cucumber's good friend in the canning world. So there's my container. A bunch of Ammi majus can look pretty chaotic with all the branching and leaves. When I sort them out and let them show more individually,they really do look quite lovely.
Ah, the flame rekindled.
