It’s an old theme for me but one I find myself revisiting often: finding beauty in the dryness of decay. Especially with flowers, it has become important to me to keep looking, even after the easy radiance of blossoms passes.
Perhaps it’s been said enough, maybe I’m the only one who needs the reminder. But I do. As often as I aim my camera at a natural world glorified, sanctified by decay and dissolution, I still need the reminder.
All things rise up and subside. We could not appreciate the one without the other. Even the sublime presence of lilacs would become cloying were they present all the time. We need the contrast, the transition, the decay.
Yes, it’s about contrast, even if that contrast ultimately includes decay and death. And yet, sitting at the edge of my sixty-fifth year, these aging bouquets, with subtle, translucent petals and the delicate memory of blooms, these graceful bouquets have much to teach me. I can see beyond their stiffness to a quiet humility and a degree of ease. Perhaps there is some wisdom for me here.