First camellia, 6 April 2020
The first deep pinky-red flower opened on the big old camellia bush given to me by my sister as a tiny seedling. The profusely blossoming tree is a 'working woman's flower' not needing much attention when my days were consumed by university teaching. And no matter what the state of the world the soft petals return, soft as the skin of my little grandaughter whom I cannot see or hold.
A radiant pure red was considered in ancient times to be the colour of light itself, before the notion of prismatic white light or the mixing of colours was understood. Plato defined colour, influenced by Empedocles, as “effluences from the surfaces of objects fitted into the channels of sight in the eye by the process of perception”. In the Roman frescoes I wonder at in Cyprus, red flowers were showered over processions, and found their way into ceilings and tombs.
Diana Wood Conroy, 'First camellia', watercolour on Arches paper, 15 x 21 cm, 6 April 2020
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