dimanche 1 avril 2007

"There are flowers, and then there are flowers..."* * I have borrowed the above apt words from Michael Pollen, contributing and ex-executive editor to "Harper's" magazine, from his essay in the beautiful tome "Tulipa." After a few days of warm sun I opened the door early this morning to see everything in the garden upside-down in frozen disarray. Spring flowers and fruit tree blossom which had been attracting pollen-seekers in the warm breeze only yesterday now looked as if in suspended animation. But not me... as I left a trail of footprints through the rime-rimmed grass, and a telltale wisp of breath floating in the cold air, I selected, framed and exposed a series of images in what seemed increasingly like an exercise in monochrome... all natural subjects in various shades of green, edged in crystal white. Then one bright splash of colour caught my eye... a brilliant powdery cerise red highlighted against an abstract pattern of dull white and yellow lichen growth on an ancient stone trough... and the best image of the morning was made with a 55mm Micro-Nikkor on my Nikon D200. I thought of plucking the sad bloom and reviving it in water inside the warm house... however, these naturally early flowers survive well, and the drooping, head-bowed, frost covered tulip depicted in the image had straightened and attained its full height in the midday sun - looking none the worse for the overnight experience. Tulips have frequently been of interest to photographers... the late Robert Mapplethorpe, no doubt, seeing the sexual connotations in their form more so than others. And the Austrian/Hungarian photographer André Kertész, who huge body of work included many studies of female nude "distortions" photographed the flower in a similar state of contortion (or sexual exhaustion?) seen in "Melancholic Tulip" (1939). Incidentally, vintage Kertész prints - those made by his hand - are extremely rare and expensive on the open market because he was allergic to photographic chemistry and stopped making his own prints during the 1940s. A little history The first tulip in Europe was seen between 1554 and 1562, the date is uncertain, having been brought from Constantinople by a Flemish diplomat, Ambassador Augier Ghislain de Busbecq, who was also a keen gardener with an admiration for this particular flower which bloomed when little else did early in the year. In fact the name Tulip comes from the Turkish "tulipam" - turban shaped. Within a hundred years "tulipomania" had gripped several nations and almost ruined one... Of all things in the world in which to make a corner, to excite a speculation, to be puffed by brokers, it would seem as if flowers would be the last. But that a whole nation should grow mad over bulbs, that the industry of a people should be turned aside from the pursuits of agriculture to that of horticulture, and that the mania should spread from the phlegmatic Dutchman to the phlegmatic Englishman, seems almost incredible. Yet in the beginning of the seventeenth century the desire for tulips had so spread over Europe that no wealthy man considered his garden perfect without his rare collection of tulips... In 1634 the rage for tulips among the Dutch was so great that the ordinary industry of the country was neglected, and the whole people turned to the production of tulips. As this mania increased, prices increased with it, until in 1635 merchants were known to have spent $40,000 in the purchase of forty tulips! More details of this fascinating story - including how a fortune was lost by a sailor's bite of a mistaken onion - and it's dramatic conclusion was published in "Harper's New Monthly Magazine" No.CCCXL, April 1876, Vol. LII. and can be read here. By the mid-1950s the KAVB, or Koninklijke Algemeene Vereeniging voor Bloembollencultuur (Royal General Bulb Growers Association), had catalogued over 5,600 different varieties of tulips of which around 2,600 varieties are cultivated and available today. Catalogue write-ups of such a number must test the vocabulary to rival a wine-taster's... but I love the last part of the description of the main tulip types in Edward Hulme's wonderful 5-volume set of "Familiar Garden Flowers" (Cassell & Co. 1907) where he describes the, "T.turcica, the parrot or ridiculous tulip, a delightful absurdity, rich in colour, as various as folly, and as ugly as any hater of florists' flowers can desire." ...such books make entertaining reading at bedtime! In the 1600s the French called these Parrot mutation varieties "Monstreuses", which is not such a far-fetched description as they have been created in modern times by subjecting the bulbs to heavy doses of radiation! For readers of poetry I found an interesting extract from "Tulips" by Chris Barnes on The Artvilla Blog of poems and poets... ...On sentinel stiff and sturdy stem Is distinctly masculine, tipped as A slim verdigris phallus; In this state I fear you'll stick, For weeks pass by as bud swells, engorges, Driven by nature's rampant aphrodisiac forces March days lengthen into April and your glans Looses its pallour and starts to blush like a spring bride Anticipating honeymoon action ejaculates explosive Purest color, gardener's design, beholder's choice... And for photographers who love to gaze at fine images, the heavy large-format book "Tulipa" is a must for the library. Showing over 300 examples of tulips, superbly photographed in colour by Christopher Baker, with the stories behind 500 examples written by Dutch bulb expert and grower Willem Lemmers. North American readers look here whilst UK-based readers should click here I wonder if the following from "Familiar Garden Flowers" is more proof of global warming? In it one can read, "In the later days of April the hyacinths are in perfection, and as they decline at the dawn of the merry month of May, the early tulips come forth in sheets of crimson, scarlet, purple, glittering silver and refulgent gold." The book was published exactly one hundred years ago in England... but this year the tulips were in bloom in March. However, since I live in central France I normally expect to see birds and flowers some weeks ahead of their appearance in the UK anyway, so it would seem that we are not that much warmer and one month ahead of those times. Whatever the outcome, tulips are currently in colourful profusion everywhere in gardens and town squares. In 1923 Charles Rennie Mackintosh, the Scottish-born artist and foremost exponent of the "Glasgow School" who had influenced the entire field of applied arts, settled in France to concentrate on landscape and flower painting. His very modern-looking water-colour "Yellow Tulips" dates from the same time... I haven't researched where he painted it, but he would have noticed any difference in Mother Nature's clock having moved from London's Chelsea to the French side of the Pyrenées. Yellow Tulips Giclee Print Mackintosh,... 12 in. x 16 in. Buy at AllPosters.com Framed   Mounted 4:59:18 PM    comment []