mid 80s, late 80s, the 90s – it was a thing. posies of dried flowers everywhere you could find a spot. on indoor trellises, tucked into cornices, hooked onto doors, gathered in bowls, in wreaths and vases and garlands, in frames and potpourri vessels. so many dried flowers.
and it wasn’t that they weren’t beautiful. next to the quilts on quilt racks and the doilies on the side tables, old silverware windchimes, painted wooden tchotchkes and cross-stitch anything, the dried flowers complimented the style of the times – this nod to nostalgic country-ish.
there was a day – years ago – when, having been surrounded by dried flowers for decades, i literally walked around my home with a big garbage bag and tossed all the dried flowers i had managed to hang, tuck, hook, trellis, gather, weave, drape, frame or potpourri-mix. it – this decorating obsession with things-dried – was suddenly done.
(now, to be fair, currently, there’s a posy of lavender from our garden in a small glass milk pitcher and a couple reeds from a hike. oh, and a few hydrangea from out front. of course, there are two big branches in our house now, not to mention driftwood from long island and an aspen log from the forest in breckenridge, but, in essence…for the most part…in theory and almost-all-application, the dried-flower-dust-accumulator period is over.)
instead, as we hike along the river and in the woods and walk in the ‘hood, we watch the flowers of the meadows and the gardens changing. their waning beauty draws me in – even more than their mid-summer blossom. there is something about the fading flower, something about the button left after the petals fall, something about the curve of the wilting coneflower or a tired black-eyed susan, the almost-fluffless dandelion, the loves-me-loves-me-not petal-less daisy. i stop and linger with them, always curious how graceful it is they go into fallow, this period of rest, how they so readily give over to this change in appearance when humans seem to resist so vehemently any visible aging.
the 1980s/1990s dried-flower-hanger/tucker/gatherer in me rises as i admire these beautiful nods to autumn’s arrival. but i leave the flowers in the meadow, in the garden, in the marsh next to the river, in the woods.
and, instead, i carry their beauty – and the moments i was witness to it – with me, knowing that diminished beauty is – nonetheless – beautiful.
*****
read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY
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