I have long admired antique picture frames. They can be so beautiful, ornate, and well-crafted – sometimes their beauty exceeds that of the artwork within (!) or adds another dimension of texture, pattern, and interest to the piece as a whole.
With that appreciation in mind, I’m beginning to put together a new project that I’ll be excited to share in the near future…
I can’t imagine a contemporary version of this lamp being tasteful or appealing in any way. Yet, the vintage silhouette has a certain feminine appeal; in this case, I guess age confers a certain amount of class.
There are some flowers that seem too exotic to grow here in the midwest. Dahlias are on that list. True, they would never survive a winter here. That they grow here at all – gracing our northern eyes with rainforest levels of resplendence -seems remarkable. I gape at them like a true provincial in the face of such strange and wonderful beauty. Golly gee, but that’s a pretty flower. 271/365: purple & white dahlia
I’m not an angler. Truth be told, my sympathy usually lies with the fish. But there is an appeal to it. At its best, fishing is solitude and simplicity – bamboo pole, worm, and net – and, then, the act of dipping into nature, embroiled in a primitive battle of wills.
The only thing brighter than the sun and redder than the apples on our field trip to Applewood Orchard was my sweet Zola Belle and her Chuck Taylors! Later, when she walked home from school in just her socks, I learned that these adorable hand-me-downs from big brother Sawyer were already too small. Glad we got one day – and the shot.
Seeds represent such a poignant moment in the continuum between life and death. The plant, investing the last of its energy in this latent progeny, releasing all of tomorrow’s hopes to the care of the wind.