‘Neutral buoyancy’ is neither sinking nor floating.
Another world lies beneath the sea, its darkest waters as unknown to us as the unexplored galaxies. It is so quiet, your exhaled breath bubbles toward a yellow veil above the water’s surface. Each sound is muffled, so as not to break your focus. This balancing act, with your flippered feet in motion, leaves you with your thoughts.
Whilst remaining calm and focused on breathing, you also feel the silent dread of your own mortality creep into the vast ocean. But in this cushioned, anti-gravity sphere, you can fly slowly and capture your surroundings. You save the memory for later nostalgia.
The light above is safety, whilst the depths below are full of fear yet curiosity. As you continue to focus, those bubbles take with them your anxiety. You are a silent presence in a world far from security and comfort, but full of promise.
You allow yourself to explore, but with the scuba diving instructor still in your vision.
White roses are traditionally associated with new beginnings, as white as a bridal gown. They may not be as loud as their coloured counterparts, but their understated beauty flaunts in their layered tones of white, playing with light and shadow.
On the first day of Spring, there is no overcast to be seen, but rather an empty sky and a scorching sun. The artist sees this from her studio and, after a long winter, is eager to capture the changing seasons. As if stealing a palette from the sky, her background is sapphire. In her ever-flourishing garden, the muted white roses provide that dramatic contrast that the artist desperately seeks. With a bed of sun-lounging roses below, only the fighting few climb upwards, their tightly closed buds unravelling, their faces exposed. She uses a thin brush to trace their intricate stems, before sculpting her white paint into oval shapes on the canvas.
When the seasons change once more, and we return to shorter days and colder nights, these white roses are a gesture of remembrance. A farewell to summer, but a promise to return, their purity expresses a quiet optimism for the future. This painting says, ‘I’m thinking of you’.
Occasionally, I have been allowed to see a magical world, which disappears as quickly as it arrives.
I am not able to predict when the light shines through the cluster of trees outside the landing window, and it’s beautiful outcome: a dramatic silhouette across the mauve wall. For a moment, the whispering shadows are able to speak, exclaim even, over the idyllic roses. For a moment, they seek desperately to come to the forefront; They no longer wish to be the understudy, but the main spectacle of my viewing.
I am astonished to discover a new element of these roses, purely by coincidence. I was once gifted these flowers: a timeless ritual and a kindness that will always be rewarded.
The amorous rose always speaks to someone special. The sentiment is then treasured for some time, as the flowers open themselves to us and reveal mother nature in her glory. I cup one of the roses to my nose, breathing in its pale, snowy petals.
Their purity proves to me the sincerest of intentions. I feel their loving and tranquil presence just steps from my bedroom, in the hallway.
I am also eager to get my timings right, and to see the theatrical shadows cast once more.
The pleasure of fresh flowers in my home is the gift which keeps on giving.
“Before my colourful imagination was dulled by adult affairs, I had a boundless love for nature.
As a child, my dark hair was kept in two long plaits, snaking down my back. I often wore faded hand-me-downs, ripped to expose my notably grazed knees.
Regardless of the weather, my intrepid spirit meant so many adventures without ever leaving the parameters of our garden. I was an architect who constructed secret hideaways and code words between friends; A warrior that would ride Coco, our beloved spaniel, into battle; A dreamer that would fall into the flowerbeds and interpret the floating, clouds in the summer sky (much to my mother’s dismay).
As the seasons changed, our backyard was given a lease of life. For each new textured leaf and intricate petal, there was a choir of songbirds that would erupt in merriment. The newly flowering garden and I shared a mutual appreciation for the glorious weather, savouring the sunshine.
Much like Alice in Wonderland, I felt shrunken as I lay amongst the blossoming white roses. They, too, strived for a better view, growing exponentially towards the heavens.
I could spend hours looking upward, alone in my thoughts but never feeling alone amongst nature.