I wanted to make something on Wednesday but didn't have anything around the studio. I wanted to make something beautiful and take pictures of it; an exercise that always makes me feel good. I was tired, emotionally and physically drained and so I went to work. The rosehips down by the pier caught my eye a few weeks ago - weathered only mildly by the temperate winter we've been having, and of no use to the birds. Nea and I walked down there with clippers and a camera. I went to work (cutting is illegal on park lands, so I'm not necessarily advocating this) and Nea dillegently wandered the grounds until she found some questionable excrement to devour. I hesitate to tell you that part beacause she looks so goddamn regal in that photo above, but hey life is full of smoke and mirrors. We all have had our shit eating days, I suppose.

I've been in a mood for a while. I am looking forward to moving to the farm and getting busy on the next phase of my work. Suffice it to say, making flowers and participating in this floral racket is leaving me unsatisfied lately. I feel so unlike what this is. I wish I could explain myself better, but I probably should just shut up about it.

When we were breaking down the valentines day shenanigans I saved that red ranunculus. I wish photos could do it justice. It traveled back to Brooklyn in a vase of random refugees at my feet in the truck. Each flower passes through so many places and hands to get to where it gives it's final performance. A spectacular vermilion ranunculus. From New Jersey!