These Anemones come from a local flower farmer. Initially I was unimpressed with the bouquet. Once they were under the lights, I discovered the hidden beauty of their stems. It’s easy to see why they share their name with an underwater creature.
My friend, Grace, requested I select an image for her bedroom. This was the very first photograph I had ever framed and hung. I named these roses after her. I left them on the set overnight, and the petals softened and wilted to the texture of fine tissue paper.
These Anemones come from a local flower farmer. The stems were long and graceful. The petals were semi-transparent and the upper blooms bathed the lower flowers with light, behaving as if they were paper lanterns.
Even though I was unimpressed with this bouquet, these girls were such show-offs. From every angle they were photogenic, and never took a bad picture. These were the Christy Turlington, super-model of flowers.
I picked up these Dahlias at a flower stand in Grand Central Station. They had to travel to upstate NY for 3 hours without water, and complained the whole way. They’re so beautiful they make me kind of sad. Like when you’re so happy, you cry.
In September of 2018 I was sitting on a beach in Sicily, longing for fresh tomatoes, cheap Italian wine, and Dahlias from upstate NY. These had just been harvested when I returned. I hoped to capture every aspect of their life, from leaf, to bud, to bloom. Now I long for Italian tomatoes, cheap wine, and the Mediterranean.
These Magnolias, from my yard, are the first flowers to bloom in spring against a grey, colorless, wooded backdrop. The petals are the color of buttercream frosting, and they have a sweet scent with a distinct note of cinnamon. Next time you’re in an airport and there’s a Cinnabon Shop, close your eyes and inhale. That’s it, without the calories.
A local flower farmer grows these outstanding flowers. This image reminds me of the snow cones I ate as a child. They dripped down my arm. As an adult, I have an aversion to anything sticky. Especially children.
This is another image from my Lavender Mums series. These flowers look beautiful and comical at the same time. I see a cluster of Muppet characters. If they could speak, they would sound like Cookie Monster.
These come my neighbor’s yard, with permission. To be honest, I wasn’t in the mood to take a photograph. These were the last of the blooms and very fragile. They wouldn’t last long, so I had no choice. I struggled with them. I was even angry at them. After seeing this shot, I apologized.
These Magnolias are clippings from one of three trees I have in my yard. I look forward to them every year, although they last a very short period of time. To me, this composition looks like something that could be found as an embroidery on a piece of Japanese silk.
These beauties were sitting in a plastic cup at the local Farmers Market. I brought them home, where I immediately took their photograph. After, I placed them in a vase with water. The bud responded shortly thereafter by opening before my eyes, within a matter of 30 seconds. It was beautiful and creepy at the same time. As in Frankenstein, “It’s alive!”.
These Ranunculus come from a nearby flower farm. There’s nothing I can do to capture the true beauty of these flowers. But I try. They look like a mob of hoop skirts, downside-up, with full petticoats.
A French flower farmer grows these nearby and gifted them to a local flower farmer. I assume their unusual color is why they’ve so rightly earned their name. They still had the bulbs attached, which gave me the impression they had been seized and kidnapped.
These are a combination of two varieties of Tulips, from two local flower farmers. As they aged, they began to look textured and weathered, like me. I thought they were so much more beautiful and interesting with these imperfections, unlike me. The stems and leaves create movement, giving the impression this photo was taken during an underwater adventure.
I was gifted these Tulips by a local flower farmer. I was told “they’re spent”. They lasted another 5 days in a vase. As they lengthened and bent, I noticed the beauty of the petals’ underside surpassed the upper. This photo was taken on day 6, of a life well spent.
I have some tall vases, but even the tallest was challenged to hold these. What’s amazing about Tulips is they continue to grow after being cut. These appear to be swaying to a bluesy beat, which makes me involuntarily tap my foot and rock from side-to-side.
I collected these in the Spring of 2018 from a local flower farmer. I was told they’re one of the only varieties of Tulips that have a scent. They smelled like an orange creamsicle, thus the name I’ve given them. I think they look delicious.
These Zinnias come from a flower stand in Grand Central Station. They traveled for 3 hours to upstate NY with their companions “Dahlias No 6”. They were equally unhappy without having a drink. They survived the trip, although some better than others. They were all included in this group photo. Those that didn’t fare well ended up being the highlight of the shot, in my opinion.
All credit goes to a local flower farmer for these little flower bombs. I wanted buds, and lots of them. I love a Dahlia in full bloom, but I think this initial stage of their life, as tightly wound petals, is overlooked. Some times the opening act is the best part of the concert. Right?
I had a visual memory of these flowers and could only describe them, not knowing their name. “You’re looking for Ranunculus”. “Can you spell that?” “r-a-n-u-n-c-u-l-u-s.” They had none, but as my search continued, at least I knew what to ask for. To this day, I still can’t imagine why these beautiful little bundles of petals were given a name more aptly suited for a German opera.
These Peonies come from a Christmas tree farm in Red Hook, NY with greenhouses for growing flowers. I watched in amazement as they went from little orbs to this. My husband, Al, walked passed this image and casually had the best description for them, "they're like popcorn." I wish I had thought of that.
While living in Montreal in 1980, my favorite album was Stevie Wonder's "The Secret Life of Plants." In the spring of 2019, these Peonies came home with me as little orbs on sticks. They slowly opened during the day, and folded up their petals at night as they slept. Over a period of 5 days they grew weary of being plucked from their vase so often, only to have their picture taken. They rebelled after opening completely, by releasing a foul odor. They lived their final days where their life began, outside. Aside from the stench, "I wish that I could come back as a flower."
I’m reminded of the “Planet Earth” series. “Jungles”. In my version, it’s a canopy of coral pink petals, allowing only bits of light to reach the surface below. It seems fitting that these Peonies come from a nearby farm, covered in acres of Christmas trees. Instead of the Amazon, this small portion of Planet Earth comes from Red Hook, NY (narrated by Sigourney Weaver).
Believe it or not, sometimes I’m speechless.
Tiny Hearts Farm in Copake, NY grew these Zinnias in the late summer of 2018. Mother Nature was feeling very generous when doling out the color to these flowers. Just having them around made me feel happy. They still do.