some amaryllis and all things red
January 10, 2011
Can’t get outside – too much work to do – deadlines, deadlines – but these blood red amaryllis start a little deviation! These are the third bunch – bunch not an accurate description – perhaps ‘sheaf’ would be a better noun that conveys the organisation of buds and stout hollow stems. So the first sheaf that entered the house were beautiful pink edged blooms which lasted at least a couple of weeks followed by the chaste, pure white buds for Christmas. Now these prima donnas have arrived . . . like velvet.
Rather like the black shadows that contribute to the composition – red, as a tone, needs some strong balance to bounce off. Just nearby is a group of textiles – rug from Morocco and large floor cushions made up from fabric from Turkey. The use of black is important – it contributes to the visual quality of the detail of the pattern.
In this textile – supposedly originally from somewhere east – the balance of black and natural red dye, tomatoish, just helps the bands to read in a rough weave.
Small cushions from Tafroute by the ‘baby’ books waiting for a little lad to grow enough so he can enjoy some stories! Of course, I intend to read them to him and enjoy his expression!
Lilies here, red with a hint of blue on the colouration in the petal, so magenta in tone . . . lovely and delicate . . .
. . sort of picked up in the grassy seed head sweeps on these tiles from Patrick . . .
. . . and I see something similar in this canvas by Jayne Ivimey. I love this painting – it’s been everywhere with me for 40 years.
And more obvious pattern in a simple carpet from Fez.
Robert Graves had this to say about shop bought flowers but he obviously hadn’t come across these amaryllis.
This wax mannequin nude, the florist rose,
She of the long stem and too glossy leaf,
Is dead to honest greenfly and leaf cutter:
Behind plate-glass watches the yellow fogs,
Claims kin with the robust male aeroplane
Whom eagles hate and phantoms of the air,
Who has no legend, as she breaks from legend –
From fellowship with sword and sail and crown,
Experiment’s flower, scentless (he its bird);
Is dewed by the spray-gun; is tender-thorned;
Pouts, false -virginal, between bud and bloom;
Bought as a love-gift, droops within the day. Robert Graves The Florist Rose