Beauty in Decay

Maybe it was the two root beer vodka tonics (delicious! at night. the next day? not so delicious) but a sentence in this article in the Sunday New York Times Magazine about Floral Designer Daniel Ost all of a sudden gave me a "theme" to some of the crap in the junk drawer that is my brain.

Here's the quotation, in case you don't feel like reading the whole article:

The process of decay interests Ost. “I’ve always wanted to show flowers in their optimum moment, but now that I’m older, I also want to explore the beauty of dying.”

Like Ost, I'm getting older, and find myself increasingly interested in the descendent curve of the arc. And when you start to look for it, you see it everywhere. All of a sudden I realize that my yard is FULL of examples - like the grass and Columbine-choked staircase in the back of my yard.


Or the massive rotting birch tree, planted by the previous owner of the house, when he was a little boy. (Sadly this is going to have to be cut down before it falls into the garage full of vintage motorcyles).

Decay is not so lovely in vintage clothing, rendering most things unsaleable. But I do (emotionally, not financially) love the smear of lipstick and spots of wine and a party dress - the remnants of a good night. Or the wear and tear to an obviously favorite jacket, replaced buttons, pinholes, shredded lining.