07 August, 2014

The New Romantics

I'm not really sure what's gotten in to me lately.
It's summer.
Blue skies, glowing sun.
Flowers. So many big, bright flowers.
Right now, there is hibiscus blooming everywhere, in every shade of pink you can imagine.
It makes the east coast look a little like Hawaii.
A very little.
Usually, my late summer work reflects all of this.
Flowers in colors as bright as the sun.
Huge collages of them,
filling necklaces and cuffs.
Metal gardens as big as the sky.
{Sky Full of Stars}
 But lately.
Lately, I'm finding myself drawn to these tiny fragments.
Tarnished golds.
Once white flowers in age-yellowed shades of ivory,
like faded photographs.
The good, old kind with not too much sparkle.
And cameos.
I've always been a sucker for those.
{Summer Noon}
 All of these discarded pieces,
the prettiest bits salvaged from rogue earrings and broken pins.
I'm drawn to these fragments like a magpie with an old soul.
Fragments make excellent building blocks:
The Beatles made their greatest album out of a brilliant handful of them.
I don't know what it is.
Maybe it's my natural reaction to a not-too-hot summer
that has allowed gardens to bloom,
and keep blooming
 without burning and withering everything in sight.
Rally against.
Punk rock pretties.
Or maybe it's some sort of creative nesting:
these are the pieces I usually dream up in the winter,
under cold gray skies.
Whatever it is,
I'm going with it.


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