A memory of yellow fields, driving up north, up along the Costa Brava, onwards to the South of France. The pale gold of hay fields, dotted with the round shapes of bales that always brings me so much joy. And then, the rich, deep yellow fields with thousands of sunflower heads turned to worship their celestial god. An uncanny feeling, but also the promise of fresh air, the Mediterranean countryside. Summertime.
At home, these visions flash through my mind’s eye as I collect a beautiful, simple package. Bursts of yellow crowning a white paper wrapping, held together by a cotton ribbon that feels good against the fingertips. I place the package on a wooden tabletop and untie the ribbon holding the arrangement together, seven flowers gently tumbling out, fan shaped.
The intense, mustardy shade of each bud commands the gaze whenever you walk into the room. Their short, richly pigmented, trigonal shape has a lasting impact on the eye. I envision lines going up and down diagonally, a row of bold triangles, dancing around a circle.
A friend I haven’t seen in fourteen years made a beautiful ceramic vessel for me. It has travelled across the Atlantic and now sits on my kitchen countertop, holding the sunflowers. Arranging them every day is a soothing meditation.
It is June, the month I was born, and the blossoms salute me.
Originally published in the summer of 2021 in Spanish, in the Alblanc Atelier journal.