alponse mucha, one of the best of art nouveau, the grande style of fin de siecle.
this is spring, from his four seasons series.
(rest of the photos are monkey photos from here and there, around work-home route. i am rather proud of them)
today the light was that of a pale, faintly-scented, young woman. the girl with brown ginger hair, feisty but she does not know yet. her beauty lies in fact she is oblivious to it. simply occupied with other treasures she finds on her way, she have not seen herself in the bubbling brooks nor calm pond, to see how she captivates her surroundings- the branches full of life, leaves and flowers, the clouds that provide gentle cover from bright daylight, the air that is hot, full of energy and vigor, seeking relief, looking for its mate.
with the sudden blossoms everywhere, it is difficult to pick out which flowers are the most beautiful. i say though the bunched hyacinths are pretty, they are too intense, too close to the ground. easily missed and almost too noisy once you find them. they are like little school children. all the sudden im thinking about the front cover of the french school girl, madeline, all with same hats and uniforms, hand in hand, marching and taking over the entire sidewalk, museums, wherever they go.
tulips are my favorites, minimalistic, all efforts of one bulb culminating into one single flower. but tulip is too noble, too chic to be that girl who is totally oblivious to her seductive beauty. the yellow trumpeting daffodils are the real juvenile delinquents. they are too busy looking cool, looking away from one another, smoking another fag, drinking cheap cider. how do i know? ive seen them since they were little bulbs, with their bare white butts up to the sky when the snow finally melted.
i found the reminiscent of last year's hydrangeas beautiful and faded. pale, like fairy wings. light and airy, they are the opposite of ephemeral beings, the transient burst of life now kept in memory, the beige veins carrying the shadows of once-busy chatters. magnolias are bursting in their white glory, but they are too full, too sexy to be the lady of the spring. more like ladies of late 40s and 50s, where one's smile carry more weight through the gracious crow's feet, rather than the hiding their history under a thick coat of make up.
then who is left? who is going to decorate the lady of the spring? the girl who just barely pauses to look where the road continues, too busy stepping on new green pasture, lips slightly apart, rising curves along her white skin, barely covered under the spring easter dress? i say... it's the cherry (and apricot) blossoms. white young flowers, abundant with honey and pollens, they invite every passing soul, for a look, a breath, a drink of nectar.
here she is, the lady of the spring. waiting for her may king. once may arrives, the frenzy of fertility and festivities will reach its peak, the branches heavy with plentiful riches, the heady scents of full-blossoms, where the lady of spring will lay with the king of may. it is his tradition. he has the right to impregnate any woman in the village during his 'reign'. and by end of may, he will fall, and her, no longer a girlish maiden, will wait, till her bosoms fill up, swelling with another cycle of life, reaching another cusp on the summer solstice. she will continue to grow, larger and warmer, barely contained under the victorious julius' sun and maddening augustus' glory. until the day of the first browned leaf, taking another trip, swimming into the small cool stream, a new change in midst of dusty summer arid heat.
but it is still spring. her porcelain skin is still untouched yet, her hair still light and voluminous. it was a beautiful day today. and i have many things to look forward in next little while. i am waiting, so that the spring lady and may king could glow in their exuberant glory. because when he falls, it will be june. a season of another story. and i will be glad for another chapter. renewal. reconnection. familiar excitement. joie de vivre. till then, i shall be patient and appreciate the fleeting beauty of the pale, yet still wee bit cold spring sun. bright and open. sharp around the edges of shadows.
ooh btw. new natalie merchan album, leave your sleep is out. it is heartshatteringly beautiful.