in all its bittersweet glory, hope blossoms under grey skies … de profundis, like its inspirations, is an exercise in finding joy in sorrow, and reasons to live in facing death. trembling violets push past snow, their beauty even brighter in contrast to the heavy pale blanket, as dahlias catch white flakes in their funneled petals. it is because of winter that spring is such cause for celebration.
i’ve written a post on serge lutens’ fragrance ‘de profundis’ which also touches on flowers of death, oscar wilde’s imprisonment and subsequent reflections, psalm 130, ophelia, anosmia to ionone in violets, and eustress.
https://lovesickloveletters.blogspot.com/2022/01/de-profundis-by-serge-lutens.html
in the west, mums were so beloved that they earned the crown of being the go-to flowers for comforting others. being so often given to grieving loved ones and placed on graves has created an unfairly eerie association, leading some to avoidance and superstitions. chrysanthemums’ ties to death cannot be denied altogether, but do they not nurse the wounds of weeping widows? is death not the first step in being reborn?
Habfürdö (1980) by György Kovásznai
white florals occupy a peculiar space in folklore. at first glance they seem to be flowers of contradiction, embodying innocence and purity while simultaneously notorious for their heady, seductive powers; but these are two sides of the same coin.
i’ve written a post on francesca bianchi’s ‘lost in heaven’ which also covers the history white flowers as a symbol for both chastity and seduction, the song of songs, purity as a state of becoming before being, dodim, scrupulosity, lilies in christianity, simone weil, biblical mistranslations, and love.
https://lovesickloveletters.blogspot.com/2021/10/lost-in-heaven-by-francesca-bianchi-and.html
…‘lost in heaven’ seeks to bridge the gap between scruples and sin, described by the house as embodying “the longing for a place of uncontaminated innocence and unconditional love and the inevitable and controversial burden of life.” savage animalia meets petal-white innocence in an ode to that endless tightrope act, striving to balance an aching, ashamed hunger for repentance with the curiosity and acceptance of flaws innate to the human condition. as bianchi aptly puts it, “made up of feelings of sin and guilt – real, or even worse, imaginary.” thus is the eternal conundrum of the scrupler: how can one rest easy knowing to be human is to sin, and is my existence itself dirty?
