Garden
My grandmother used to have a gigantic one, full with iris, roses, gladiolus…Every inch of space was covered in colors and sents. Let me tell you that Easter egg hunt was SPECTACULAR. She woke up every morning and check her garden before everything else and her house was always decorated with fresh flowers.
I have now the chance to have a garden too and growing flowers has become one of my joy. When my hands are covered in soil I feel connected to my grandmother and it reminds me the beauty of this world.
Here is a poem I would like to share with you. It is from the incredible Vita Sackville West and it is about her beloved garden.
“We owned a garden on a hill,
We planted rose and daffodil,
Flowers that English poets sing,
And hoped for glory in the Spring.
We planted yellow hollyhocks,
And humble sweetly-smelling stocks,
And columbine for carnival,
And dreamt of Summer's festival.
And Autumn not to be outdone
As heiress of the summer sun,
Should doubly wreathe her tawny head
With poppies and with creepers red.
We waited then for all to grow,
We planted wallflowers in a row.
And lavender and borage blue, -
Alas! we waited, I and you,
But love was all that ever grew.”
There was a sentence my grandmother used to say when she oppened her shutters on the morning "bonjour le jour". I loved saying it with her so I translated it into a linocut. It is a flower garden, with all it' bugs life and magic in it.
