It doesn’t so much grow as appear quietly, decisively, along the edges of old stone paths and forgotten garden walls. The sort of green you notice only when the afternoon light bends low enough to find it. Leaves scalloped like the hems of a Victorian skirt, smelling faintly of mint when brushed by your hand.
It has no schedule, no need for permission. One day, a bare patch of earth; the next, a low, creeping constellation of green, weaving itself into places you didn’t think plants could live.
In another century, someone might have steeped it for a tonic, sworn it cured what ailed them. Today, it cures only the dullness of the too-tidy garden.
And the frame…
The flowers and foliage you’ve gathered like the portraits, landscapes, and improbable finds before them were never meant for just any frame.
This one curves inward like the opening line of a secret. Its champagne gilt catches light the way a Parisian café catches conversation warm, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.
Not ostentatious, but quietly certain it belongs in rooms where people linger, where glances return again and again, as if drawn by some unspoken promise.
Fantastic as a solitary piece commanding the space it’s given and even better when it conspires with five of its companions, turning a wall into a gallery and a room into a conversation.
It doesn’t so much grow as appear quietly, decisively, along the edges of old stone paths and forgotten garden walls. The sort of green you notice only when the afternoon light bends low enough to find it. Leaves scalloped like the hems of a Victorian skirt, smelling faintly of mint when brushed by your hand.
It has no schedule, no need for permission. One day, a bare patch of earth; the next, a low, creeping constellation of green, weaving itself into places you didn’t think plants could live.
In another century, someone might have steeped it for a tonic, sworn it cured what ailed them. Today, it cures only the dullness of the too-tidy garden.
And the frame…
The flowers and foliage you’ve gathered like the portraits, landscapes, and improbable finds before them were never meant for just any frame.
This one curves inward like the opening line of a secret. Its champagne gilt catches light the way a Parisian café catches conversation warm, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.
Not ostentatious, but quietly certain it belongs in rooms where people linger, where glances return again and again, as if drawn by some unspoken promise.
Fantastic as a solitary piece commanding the space it’s given and even better when it conspires with five of its companions, turning a wall into a gallery and a room into a conversation.
13 1/4” x 16 1/2” x 1 1/2”
