"Fame is ultimately but the summary of all misunderstandings that crystallize about a new name" ~Rilke Rodin
Rose is not a new name for the flower that is always a rose despite its name, but the name "rose" repeatedly renews itself to every breakthrough that holds the idea of the flower in its imagination.
There is natural and there is studied, but when it comes to rose both apply. It is one of the most diverse plant families, and most roses, including the old roses-- damasks among them--are feats of engineering, made by crossing different species of rose to create new roses or by whizzing out a molecular plan on a computer and then putting some compounds together for another rose fragrance...a disembodied ghost.
"The press briefing for October’s Clinical Cosmetic Reconstructive Expo in London was delayed – there had been another death. A cluster of journalists gathered on the mezzanine while below them visitors filtered past signs for She Lase and Zero Gravity Skin and a stand for a company called Eurosilicone that claims to have been “Empowering women for over 30 years”. At the far end of the conference hall, a woman was having her jawline enhanced with fillers in front of a rapt crowd; the Safety in Beauty stand was empty."
"Rear View: The Big Business of Bottoms", The Guardian 11.18.18
This winter felt like two winters. Even those of us with fast paced lives across which the weeks and seasons flicker, noticed it. On the little mountain where I live the repetitive loop was a patience test--the snow would come down thick and then a few days later begin to melt and flow in streams of cold liquid. Then again. and again. Sometimes five minutes further down toward sea level, there was no snow at all. And I thought--what am I doing living all the way up here?
This season was marked by time spent with so many artists and artisans: some colleagues, some customers, some to whom I am customer, those who are friends new and old, and those who helped me with my own plans for Balbec and generally inspired me. For all of their extraordinary work and generous spirits, this poem by Dylan Thomas. Below is a picture of a farm at the end of my road. It isn't his Wales, but I love it just the same.
Happy New Year Everyone!
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