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Dawn Corrigan The Art of Flower Arranging* I have always loved flowers, and not from afar. Flower arranging is not a haphazard art. Flowers have been footnotes throughout history. When words fail, there are flowers. Marigolds, white tuberoses and chincherinchees speak with a casual voice. Queen Anne’s lace, ever hardy weed, lends a capricious air to things. Daisies’ nature is generous. Peonies are irritating, I am often cross with them for not knowing their place. There are endless tricks in our trade. Consider the shapes of heads, look for ones that bend together: an orangey pink quarrels with a rosy one, but the thought of color need not trigger an anxiety attack. Some rules are made to be broken—what pleasure there is in doing so!—such are the rules of scale and proportion. But do not get carried away. Distortion can end with drama or misfortune. And don’t belittle the branch. Branches are spectacular and fashionable. Pound them with a hammer and they will draw water. Consider greens more than an accoutrement: Podocarpus lasts like iron; moss must be used correctly. Containers are all about you. Copper molds, casserole dishes, sugar bowls, sauce boats, apples—all potential receptacles for flowers, as are old perfume bottles, baked bean crocks, pumpkins, cookie tins—some for masses, some for a single bloom. And don’t overlook the versatile Tupperware container. Flowers on the dinner table tell your family or guests they were expected and you are happy they’ve arrived. What nicer surprise than to be given what we bravely refrain from giving ourselves. And remember: flowers aren’t a woman’s prerogative. As for dried flowers, some people like them, and some do not. No matter. It is never a question of good taste or bad. Disporting with beauty is always fun and the best of all reasons in the flower arranging art is: Because I like it. Despite Karl Marx’s dream, there is no such thing as a classless society, even among flowers. Pity the poor carnation, a queen long dismissed as ordinary. To return a worthy queen to her throne is always worth it. If carnations are tighter than you'd like, blow on the flower head and gently spread the petals with your fingers. *The title and much of the body of this poem are adapted from Zibby Tozer’s splendid book The Art of Flower Arranging, 1981. |
