flowers
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Drenched in Flowers

Recently I have immersed myself in the macro lives of flowers. I like to imagine the eyes that have gazed over time and pondered over the wonder of the world that we live in that is populated with this plethora of colour, genetic diversity and scent that feeds my heart each day.

Looking through my window into my small garden i can see verbenas, calendulas, clambering and wild roses, sage flowers competing with rose campions, double headed geraniums mirroring the violet blues of  the climbing clematis and the now going memory of the wisteria and small but perfectly formed forget me nots.

I gaze over my garden and ponder, as many have done over the time that has passed  between now and then

“The garden should be adorned with roses and lilies, the turnsole, violets, and mandrake; there you should have parsley, cost, fennel, southern-wood, coriander, sage, savory, hyssop, mint, rue, dittany, smallage, pellitory, lettuces, garden-cress, and peonies.   There should also be beds planted with onions, leeks, garlic, pumpkins and shallots.  The cucumber growing in its lap, the drowsy poppy, the daffodil and brank-ursine ennoble a garden.  Nor are there wanting, if occasion further thee, pottage-herbs: beets, herb-mercury, orache, sorrel and mallows, anise, mustard, white pepper and wormwood do good service to the gardener.”  
–  Alexander of Neckham, Of the Nature of Things, 1187

In honour of flowers I have created  a series of photographic prints and cushions for sale at the artist co-op gallery that I am part of – Fannie and Fox, in Cornwall

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Lover of the sea, dogs noses, shades of grey, wild plants growing through concrete cracks, wrinkles and crinkles on peoples faces, silence on roads and laughter from backyard gardens, acid yellow plants, the scent of the hedgerow and the fruits that they bear, food that makes your tongue tingle and food that is shared, created and then gone, lonely china plates at car boot sales, found things on beaches, the whistle from the kettle on the stove and the crackle from my fire, spontaneous dancng and singing and from that - silence.

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