garden of the mind’s eye
Today is cold and rainy and utterly dreary, but I’m cozy in my studio, looking at the trees outside my window. Two days ago, I re-read Rose Daughter by Robin McKinley, which reminded me of my favorite motif – roses. I had an idle thought the other day that perhaps I was a rosebush in another life. Or may yet be one. It’s curiously appealing.
When I was born, someone remarked that I looked like a rosebud, and the idea has persisted all through my life. I’ve been called Rosebud and Roseblossom. So I found myself drawn to roses, but I much prefer them on the bush, in a garden or growing wild, especially if they actually smell like roses. I like any variety in any color. I’ve taken more photos of roses than any other flower. I look for rose patterns in fabrics and papers. I consistently use metaphors with roses or rosebushes. I draw them, dream them, or see them in my mind’s eye all the time.
“Rose pink” is one of my favorite colors. But it has to be “rose pink”, not “rose” (a different shade altogether), and not merely “pink”.
I wrote in my morning pages recently that I don’t seek “silver linings” so much as “rose-colored linings”. Roses and optimism and joy seem like inseparable friends to me.
One of these days I need to find a way to draw roses pleasingly because I will never run out of designs to put them in.