Last week I noticed that the roses blooming in my Mom's garden in Scottsdale, Arizona, looked very much like the roses painted on an antique china plate in her cupboard.
It reminded me that roses have always been adored, admired, painted and planted by people who love pretty things. This plate is well over 60 years old; in fact, my Mother has had it almost that long herself, and it was old when she acquired it. The roses blooming in her pots are from the Home Depot and the grocery store just a few years ago, with names unknown. I wonder what roses were the inspiration for the artist? Were they just generic images in his head that came out on his china palate, or were they interpertations of beloved plants grown in her garden and lovingly brushed onto the plate to treasure forever? Likely it was just a job and the flowers were painted according to some standard directions. Though that takes a bit of the romance out, it remains facinating to me that these roses, so far apart in time and space, are yet of a race of eternal beauty rediscovered and enjoyed in so many different ways by each generation anew.
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