Endings and Beginnings

Posted on August 12, 2013 by composerinthegarden

I awoke early last Monday morning, feeling as if I were on the “champagne stage” of the Tour de France, where the victorious pedal into Paris for the last leg of a long race while sipping champagne. I had just finished composing my saxophone concerto the night before; all that was left to do was a little tweaking and formatting. Angel and I took a walk at dawn, witnessing a spectacular sunrise through storm clouds that were passing away, an apt visual metaphor for the intense few months I had spent writing this piece. I was on the champagne stage now – just a few more hours of studio time and I would indulge in a glass of prosecco at the end of the day.

The world changed while I was preoccupied in my studio. I vaguely remember seeing the garden when I came out to visit for an hour or two each day, but my head was full of music and I wasn’t really paying close attention. Now that I’ve had a week to reorient myself, I’m a bit taken aback. I feel as if I’ve gone through a magical revolving door from the gaudy splendor of the July garden to the mellow pace of August. A few daylily blooms persist but the color banner is carried forward by the large blowsy flowers of PeeGee Hydrangeas, Rose of Sharon, tall stands of garden phlox, the bright daisy forms of Echinacea and Rudbeckia, and the fresh rebloom of roses.

It is now a more relaxed garden, requiring a relaxed attitude towards the insect damaged leaves of blooming plants and a tolerance for the gradual disintegration of carefully crafted color combinations. The quiet of dusk and dawn have been filled with a raucous chorus of cicadas by day and the bold throbbing songs of tree frogs by night. Flocks of butterflies cover the Buddleia (butterfly bush) by the deck and hummingbirds in two’s and three’s feed on the Salvias nearby.

July has ended, August has begun and their sights and sounds are distinctly different. It has taken me a week to begin writing in words instead of notes, and of raising the camera to my eye once again. Here are a few portraits of the garden in August. Enjoy, and perhaps join me in a glass of champagne to celebrate the beauty of endings and beginnings.

Echinacea (coneflowers)

Echinacea and bee

Hydrangea ‘Limelight’

Black swallowtail butterfly

Rose of Sharon ‘Diana’

Rose of Sharon and Hydrangea

Late blooming daylily

Pink Carpet rose

Lavatera ‘Pink Blush’

English rose ‘Sharifa Asma’

‘Winter Sunset’ rose with Phlox

Daylily ‘El Desperado’

Rudbeckia ‘Viette’s Little Suzy’

Oakleaf Hydrangea

Sunrise

When you’re young you prefer the vulgar months, the fullness of the seasons. As you grow older you learn to like the in-between times, the months that can’t make up their minds. Perhaps it’s a way of admitting that things can’t ever bear the same certainty again. ― Julian Barnes, Flaubert’s Parrot (courtesy of Good Reads)

Playing With Thunder

Posted on July 22, 2013 by composerinthegarden

It has been a tough month; almost daily thunderstorms with copious rain have become the norm. My garden is a swamp and many hours have been spent in the basement holding Angel, my lovely standard poodle, in my arms as a comforting shield against the sub-sonic power of a thunderstorm. My third (!) blog post, Anatomy of a Thunderstorm, included a recording of an August storm captured on my Zoom recorder. So?

Rip van WInkle statue

If you haven’t seen me recently visiting your blogs, there is a reason. I am now in my studio, where I have been for weeks, putting the final touches on a large concerto piece for tenor saxophone and orchestra called “Arcadian Tone Poems” (more about that next week!) One of the movements “Playing With Thunder” draws on that recording that I made two years ago. Many myths and stories surround thunder, including Washington Irving’s American tale of Rip Van Winkle with men playing “nine pins” in the sky as well as that of the Greek Elysian Fields, the final resting places of the souls of the heroic and the virtuous, evolved from a designation of a place or person struck by lightening. (see Wikipedia) I prefer to think of thunder as a loud and boisterous conversation between yesterday’s weather hanging around too long and the new front moving in to claim temporary territory . . . or, perhaps a machismo conversation between Thor and Zeus.

So, enough said; I am deep in the completion of “Playing With Thunder” and must return to the task at hand, even though the sound of it seems to be frightening Angel all over again. Here is a link to Anatomy of a Thunderstorm. Be not afraid, it is just an evolving and sometimes raucous conversation event 🙂

That Particular One

Posted on July 5, 2013 by composerinthegarden

One does a whole painting for one peach and people think just the opposite – that particular peach is but a detail. ~ Pablo Picasso

Bench swallowed by hydrangeas

Blame it on the weather – we seem to have re-entered Pennsylvania’s carboniferous period, the Paleozoic era of tropical rain forests that produced those rich fields of coal, oil, and natural gas that are so currently in contention. Daily rainstorms and high temperatures have spurred green growth so luxuriant that garden paths are now covered in green plants rather than brown mulch and every garden plant is double its normal size. It is a child’s garden for adults, as I look up into the blooms of daylilies and roses above my head and vainly try to temper nature’s enthusiasm for this state of affairs.

As a result, I offer here portraits of flowers, bewitching, entrancing, and totally designed to disguise the unruly and weedy carpet at their feet. Any pretense at horticultural control is gone – oh, this is not a polite or nice summer garden – this is unruliness and passion at its best. So, I have narrowed my view, for purposes of this post, to the particular – the particular flower, the particular point of view, the one instead of the many. If I cannot control the garden with snippers and shovel, I will control its perception with the camera lens and what it can reveal through each flower, each leaf, each drop of rain.

So many elements conspire to create this cunundrum! This was to be the year of the “total garden” – the wide view of well-defined spaces and elegant combination of elements. “Hah!” said nature and life. “You may wish for control and balance but it is not to be so! Enjoy the wild effusive growth of garden plants and weeds in equal measure and enjoy life to the fullest.” In other words, grow or die.

This week, as I try to complete a large and ambitious piece of music, I am constantly challenged. This note or that, this idea or that. It is the quantuum challenge, of choosing the particular from the field of possibilities. As a composer, I can only trust inner instincts and own my musical choices as I wander through the sound landscape and choose “this, not that.”

Enjoy this little photo gallery of the particular – the blooms that shine above the chaos of riotous growth and change. I now return to my studio to continue pursuing the choice of particular notes.

Daylily in the light

Daylily ‘Desert Dreams’

Daylily ‘Neal Berry’

Daylily ‘Dark Star’

Daylily ‘Diabolique’

Daylily ‘Diabolique’ closeup

Daylily ‘Amy Michele’

Daylily ‘Eggplant Ecstasy’

Daylily ‘Her Majesty’s Wizard’

Daylily ‘Jan’s Twister’

Alstromeria ‘Sweet Laura’

Daylily ‘Etched Eyes’

Daylily ‘Night Wings’

Daylily ‘Roger Grounds’

Raindrops on purple smoke bush

Daylily ‘Blue Eyed Butterfly’

Daylily ‘Shaka Zulu’

Daylily ‘Speak of Angels’

To see more daylilies in my garden, see last year’s post “Beauty for a Day”

Except My Roses

Posted on June 21, 2013 by composerinthegarden

You steal my roses, the things I love most in all the world. . . You could have taken anything – except my roses. ~ from Jean Cocteau’s Beauty and the Beast

A perfect first day of summer, the solstice, the longest day of the year. The roses are celebrating, having a raucous party in the garden while they soak up the sun and feed the bees. The height of rose bloom always brings to mind one of my favorite movies, Jean Cocteau’s 1946 masterpiece “Beauty and the Beast” (La Belle et la Bête). In a magical film that still delights and intrigues me with its whimsical imagery and cinematic beauty, the scene that comes to mind is when Beauty’s hapless father plucks a rose from the Beast’s garden as a gift for his daughter and is immediately confronted for his crime.

How ironic that I moved here twelve years ago so that I would have more gardening space for roses, and all of the roses I planted the first year died over the winter. The daylilies that I brought thrived in the heavy clay soil and shrugged off deer and rabbit attacks. Not so the lovely English roses, who were far too genteel to survive this robust and challenging garden microclimate. To be without roses was unthinkable, so I began a long experimentation with roses safely ensconced behind garden walls – who was sassy enough to survive in an organic garden with no spraying and no artificial fertilizer?

Old roses, a few of the hardier English roses on their own roots, stalwart Griffith Buck roses, a few Canadian and shrub roses – all became part of the garden landscape, surrounded by geraniums, lambs ear, and other gentle plant companions. The summer sun triggers the rose perfume; each morning begins with thousands of petals of color, heady fragrance, and the songs of bees nestling in for a little more pollen. You could take anything from me- except my roses.

Knockout Rose

Carefree Delight

Pink Carpet rose

Mary Rose (English)

Veilchenblau (old climbing rose)

Darlow’s Enigma hybrid musk rose

Darlow’s Enigma blossom

Rose de Rescht (old rose)

Rose de Rescht in border

Blanc Double de Coubert (rugosa)

Blushing Knockout and lamb’s ear

Blushing Knockout in the garden

‘Amber’ Carpet rose and blue geraniums

Margo Koster polyantha rose

Marie Pavie polyantha rose

Remastered and released by Criterion, La Belle et La Bête is now available on DVD and Blueray. (B&W, in French with English subtitles) A film treasure.

I buy most of my “own root” roses from Roses Unlimited, they are shipped in pots in beautiful condition. Wonderful source!

Let the Rain Kiss You

Posted on June 7, 2013 by composerinthegarden

Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby. ~ Langston Hughes, American poet

The garden glistened this morning with a thousand silver liquid drops of rain, lingering from yesterday’s storms. I’ve been absent of late, preoccupied with finishing a large music piece due in July and with testing and refining my video techniques for the Penn’s Woods project.

This morning, I gave myself a ramble about the garden to capture the sudden wealth of beautiful scenes of raindrops on leaf and bloom. I have been trying to develop a cinematic approach in capturing video, using selective focus (depth of field) and composing images using a spiral Fibonacci curve. Today, I challenged myself to shoot still photos the same way, using one lens (60 mm macro) and publishing only those photos that needed no cropping and minimal technical prep. Here are a few images of the garden in a magical moment and hopefully a reflection of my current goals in capturing images. Click on any photo to trigger the gallery view. Enjoy! (All photos ©2013 Lynn Emberg Purse, All Rights Reserved)