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.