my son is just old enough to realize that this gall infested leaf is a potential still blog subject, and just young enough to think it’s still cool. he’s twelve. not yet a teenager. crossing my fingers…
leaf with galls
saint paul, minnesota
these tulips dried in their vase. they look like they have a little life left in them, but they are actually as dry as tissue paper. i set them in a vase out in the garage to be dealt with later, while i prepared the house for a party and then forgot about them until today. i have never tried to dry tulips before, and although i didn’t technically try to do anything in particular this time, i have to say i am thrilled with the result. i feel like the shepherd who forgot some sheep’s milk back in the cave and returned a week later to discover he’d invented cheese.
i took a very posed and orderly photo of these leaves early in the day, and assumed that it would be today’s still blog image. and then i gradually fell out of love with the composition, and asked for family help, as i sometimes do when i feel empty of new arrangements and possibilities. and they came through, working through several variations on the theme of orderly and neat, before resorting to the theme of overlapping and random. and suddenly i saw the ground in polynesia where we lived for three months one winter, and where tropical leaves and mangoes and papayas littered the bush at our feet whenever we walked anywhere that wasn’t beach. and i decided i had now finally found my still blog image for the day, because it meant something to me.
assorted tropical leaves
i don’t have much to say about this. how many thoughts occur to you when you look at it? like how straight it is. how twisted. how clean and how messy. how like a birth. how male. how designed. how random. how floral. how vegetal. how sure of itself. how confused. how striving. how itself. how alive. not much to say, really.
saint paul, minnesota
steve and i talk about tone a lot. usually it has to do with his peculiar ability to match the tone of his writing exactly to the particular audience he’s writing to, or for. i lean on him quite embarassingly often when i need to send delicate emails that could potentially be misunderstood. i call him “cyrano,” when these occasions arise. as in, “hey, can you cyrano this email for me?” but tone can be visual as well as verbal, and i particularly like the muted way that the colors in this photo work together, threading the needle between funereally faded and pinkly precious. somewhere between those two extremes, these colors decided to hold hands, and forget their differences, and celebrate how beautiful they could be if they worked together.
ranunculus, eremurus blossoms, and a eucalyptus leaf