|
She rescues flowers endowing some of her
own magic to these recomposed
bouquets, giving
them one last chance to
give grace to her home. Previously
treated as backdrop. On
her messy dining room table-- the
very heart of her house, they
depict her most valuable talent of reviving not just flowers. In
her friends, she entices virtues lying
dormant to the surface rallying
us to rediscover what
is missing & add whatever fresh we
might need so that we are released back into our world renascent. |
Two Gerbera daisies. An
orange so vivid they shine. These are not dyed
this color. Originally from as flamingos. Snapdragons also feel unreal.
Hothouse, perhaps? With
blooms as full-to-bursting as any grape, they’re a shade of hot pink almost fuchsia. Three luscious roses a gentle shade of apricot. Whorled like a
shell, delicately fragrant, as enticing as a secret. Tips pointed and perfectly formed, the sole daylily is the shade of dark peach sometimes seen diffused across a sunset like
a cloak. |
at catered weddings where
vitality waxes & wanes stylized
works of art hold sway over each candle-clad
table she waits these tables in the ballroom at a
botanical garden where orchestrated
exorbitant affairs parallel
the perfect gardens at this site where
half the food & most bouquets are
not composted, are wasted, like
this memorable arrangement that
defies artistic wisdom: clashing
pinks & oranges, beauty &
beast, why does it work? her
salving sleight of hand, this
phantasmagoric fusion of joie
de vivre. |