 Knowing takes time When I placed the order for materials to make paper flowers, I had to wait a week for delivery. It was disappointing, but I did what I probably wouldn't have done had the materials arrived sooner ... read the book I borrowed from the library (the whole book, not just a chapter here or a passage there, the whole book), watched some videos (thank goodness), and found lots of examples of what's possible with paper flowers. Amazing. And then the paper arrived. I waited until the next day to get started, suddenly seized by doubt and overwhelm. The anticipation was over, now it was time to do the work. It's hard being a beginner Deep in crepe paper with sticky fingers, glue on my clothes, and scraps of snipped paper on the table and floor, I found myself mired doubt. This might be too much, I told myself. And I pouted ... wondering if it really was all too much. But, after multiple breaks to wash the glue from my fingers, a lot of deep breaths, and three hours of concentration, I had my first flower. A white cosmos. The finished flower was such an accomplishment. It's given me the incentive to keep going. To keep trying. Eager to see how well I did, I took the paper flower (the white one) up the street and nestled it in among the real (pink) ones growing on the corner lot. I'm working on my second flower and feeling the same doubts ... is this worth it? Do I really want to pursue this? I'm not sure, but I do know what I need to do: Give it time. It would be easy to give up now. I'm frustrated and want quick results, but I know better. It's a familiar feeling. The same feeling I get when I start writing ... this newsletter, a letter to a pen pal, and just every other writing project. It's the feeling I got when I was painting room after room in the house these past few months. And so many other projects. But I've learned: staying with it matters. Is there something you're ready to bail on? Would it be better to hang in there a bit longer? Sometimes, it is good to say, "Nah, I think I'm done." But other times, we just need to dig a little deeper, hang in a little longer. After all, you never know how things might blossom ...  My second flower, the thistle, is a work in progress. The purple bits are too long, but I'm afraid to cut them. Afraid I'll cut too much and regret it. So I'm leaving it alone for a while. But I'm not giving up ... yet.
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 Flowers ... paper and otherwise
Last week I received a beautiful gift from a friend ... a handmade paper box with cut paper roses adorning the lid. In the note she sent along with the box, she talked of the Victorian meaning of flowers ... roses in particular. They hold meaning for love, honor, faith, beauty, balance, passion, wisdom, and intrigue. My friend's flowers reminded me of the collage work I've done with flowers, much of it inspired by collage artist Mary Delany. Born in 1700, she started her collage work at age 72(!) where it's now exhibited at The British Museum. Delany's work was especially striking with black backgrounds and vivid colors. The floral arrangement above mimics Delany's style with the black background, but with natural materials. You can try it yourself by deconstructing and arranging just a few flowers (this arrangement is a lily, a daisy, some greens, and a small yellow flower I can no longer identify). Make your arrangement on black paper or some other background ... just be mindful of working outside and the breeze, it will wreak havoc with your petals (yes, that's the voice of experience). And remember, it's not too late to start something new. Mary Delaney did at 72 and from what I've read about her, it changed her life. Let's get going. |
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