Dear Summer

Dear Summer,
I can see it in your eyes that you’re moving on. But we’ve had a good run, haven’t we? You gave me armfuls of flowers as if it was nothing. We sipped cold wine and laughed on the patio together. We fell asleep with the windows open, listening to crickets on a cool breeze. We even tramped about in the woods, breathing in that green mossy smell. I shall remember you fondly during the long cold winter, as I wistfully scan photos of times we shared.

With a tear and a smile, I bid you farewell and look forward to seeing you again next year.

Rita

P.S. If you find me missing for a few days, it’s because I’ll be drawing out the last few drops of joy you have to offer.

The Art of Nature

Georgia O’Keefe was one of my first artistic crushes. Her larger-than-life flowers were unapologetically sensual; her colors and shapes defied convention.

So when my friend Leann showed me this article from the British editiion of Country Living on the work of this London artist, Sarah Graham, I was newly smitten. Her work doesn’t technically resemble O’Keefe’s, except perhaps in subject matter. She uses charcoal or pencil on brown butcher’s paper, or white paper.

Like her mother, my mother is a voracious gardener. This madness for flowers is the sort of thing that sinks into your psyche whether you see it coming or not. It was only in my thirties that I was able to embrace this enthusiasm I inherited from my mother; either in the garden or in my work.

With my renewed interest in representing nature in its raw, noble uniqueness in my home, this approach holds endless possibilities for me. So, with all due respect, I’m going to borrow Sarah’s approach. I already have something in mind … to go above the mantle and compliment the new chair.