Someone left some beautiful flowers at my door one day a few weeks ago. Which, of course I immediately took a photo of for Insta, because thats what ya do right? Flora has a way of making me momentarily happy and calm, and teaching me cliche, yet poignant lessons about life.
And, so, as anything beautiful does, they started to fade. Decay sets in, and petals fell off onto my sideboard. I noticed the colours changing, and that some pieces changed quicker than others. I was convinced for a long time that that purple curly piece was made of plastic. So I held in my mind that I'd like to photograph them in this process. I am drawn to the impermanence of the good things in life. Fear and shame seemingly linger much longer than love, and I wonder about the relationship between the certain demise of beauty, and the need for us to be present in the moment.
So they sat there waiting, and I procrastinated. The simple task of grabbing a black background from downstairs and putting them in front of it, seemed so hard. Why? Not entirely sure. What I do know, is that in my depressive state, I'm less likely to do things that make my heart happy. It's a nasty trap like that, and to be honest has had me in it's grips for most of this year. Well, what do you know, the trap released me for a moment yesterday. I made the long (not so long) trek downstairs to grab my black boards. Here's what happened.
What happened, was that I knew this would be beautiful. And that perhaps beauty doesn't actually fade, it just changes, depending on the way you look at things. I would love to hear your thoughts about how you see a bunch of dying flowers. xx