Whenever summer rolls around, the same dreamy images float through the fog of my brain. Now this fog is relatively easy to clear up though, so don’t be too concerned about its gloomy presence and/or my health. With each exam checking itself off on the seemingly never ending list of things that had to be completed before I could declare my summer as officially open, the sun would break through that fog and I could suddenly imagine myself dangling on the tip of a sail boat on the open sea. Perhaps dangling is a little too life-threatening. Although a good dangling session on the edge of a sail boat does sound appealing if it weren’t for the fact that I have imagined myself already in a rather expensive and oh-so-breezy summer dress.
Seeing as how what I’m wearing kept coming into play in these day dreams of the exotic nature of my summers, whenever a fashion mag would boldly state, “Meet your summer jacket,” I would immediately direct my eyes to this apparent staple for my summer wardrobe. Until the price tag practically hisses at me, “$525.” Who has that money, yo?! Okay, well, not the starving student I claim to be (please look away from that Starbucks bill).
So this is pretty much a nod to magazines to say that the majority of people who pick up your magazine want to be whisked away into a dream-like state of picking and choosing items for their dream closets… but the dream can only extend so far, and I would like to see price tags that don’t cripple my soul (no hint of melodrama here).
And with that, rant over & happy mother’s day!
Please get your mumma this many flowers. Or treat yourself. Or a stranger. Because I think everyone deserves to be hugged by this many flowers.
Actually, now that Clare Elsaesser’s paintings have made its way into this little post, I should dedicate a few more words to her. It would be a small crime not to, as I would be depriving you all from a taste of graceful talent. The series that first caught my eye were, of course, focused on these beautiful collections of flowers. My eye has become acutely trained to notice any bursts of colour that have so graciously bloomed for us over the next few months, as though they’re trying on a new shade of lipstick and are eager for us all to see their dolled up beauty. We’ll kneel down, place our nose but a few inches away, and just smile and say, “We’re so glad you decided to stop by.” At least that’s how it should be. And I think that’s exactly how these women feel, as they embrace their bundles of flowers as though they were long lost lovers. There’s such a distinct feeling of relief, coalesced with sincere longing and a desire to never unlock their arms. And by hiding these women’s faces, it becomes less of a painting about one woman, but one moment – a moment where love has bloomed all over again and we’re somehow given this privilege to see it all paused, amidst the chaos of everyday when they have rushed to the store and spontaneously – or very much intentionally – purchased a bundle of flowers, or more aptly, found a moment in time to remember a lover. I find it all very beautiful. What’s more, these scenes have a distinctly European feeling to me, and, of course, only in Europe does the term “lover” really seem to feel at home.