It is, of course, not original to take pictures of flowers. And, in my experience, lots of photographers start out using flowers as a base to play with focus, colour, composition.
It was the same for me, I just never stopped.
I love having a vase of daffodils sitting on my desk as I write, I enjoy the way the rich smell of lilly pollen reminds me of Mum, of home. And I enjoy the power a bunch of flowers has; delivered to a hurting friend, a lonely aunt, to myself in an almost broken situation. Yes, flowers have power in their petals.
They do, however, also make me sad. Because I know they’ll die. I know that if it weren’t for the concrete walls and the burning desire for nature inside the city, they’d still be growing. Still be glowing where they fit in. In my vase, I’m a voyeur. I suck in their beauty, I watch them die.
With my camera, I stop that. As the shutter clicks, they freeze in time. And even as the years pass, I can still remember what each flower meant, who it was bought by, and the way it made me feel. The same goes for every wild flower I shoot, stopped in growth for my lens.
