Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Dahlia's... A Celebration....

A few months ago, I stood in our local bakery with my daughter,  and I fell in love with the work of a local artist who had an exhibition of her paintings mounted on the walls above the coffee sippers and scone enthusiasts...  All of the paintings were of sculptural plants - agave's, succulents and the spearlike New Zealand Flax..., all of them, except one...   This one painting was different, it was a painting of  jewel-toned Dahlia's... I was mesmerized.. My daughter "encouraged me" to buy it...

Five months later... and I now own "Celebration"

The artist is Sophie Frieda  http://www.sophiefrieda.com/       
 whom I met for the first time the other day when I went to pick up the painting.

I realize that "beauty is in the eye of the beholder," and art is very much about personal taste...
  To buy this piece of art has been  a very special experience for me.., first gazing and falling in love with the art, then calling the artist up (who happened to be on holiday in England at the time...), asking if I could "make payments," as I couldn't afford to buy the painting in one go.., then making monthly payments..., finally meeting the artist at her studio and seeing some of her other stunning works..  And now Celebration is mine..., and I will have to find a place for her in our new home...
I LOVE my new painting, I love its strength and boldness, and I love its feminine curves and sensuality...

I found this poem about Dahlias to "celebrate" Celebration...

Dahlia in the Window ~ by Caroline Misner

Pale and translucent as pink lemonade,
the morning sun filtered its petals
to pure lightness;

a saffron haze 
near the stem, pallid fuchsia at its tips,
it yawns, unfurling its petals into
the summer air laden with mist
and amber seed.

The leaves cluster around its stem,
as though protecting its emerald heart
from the gardener's shears;
every day an excruciating uncertainty;

the bees burrow deep
into its fuzzy heart
the way the pestle enters
the mortar; their famished
mouths can decimate
the life from this fragile bloom.

Every day the gardener
parks his rusty wheelbarrow
by the garden gate,
green with leaves and ivy,
and considers
plucking the precious blossom
from the sill;

an executioner of the garden,
the dahlia's life dependent
upon his will.

1 comment:

The Quintessential Magpie said...

I love it! What a wonderful piece, and I would have bought it, too!


Sheila :-)