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February 2021

-  Belliza  -

"My favourite flowers are roses. Red roses," said my friend Eva, "say what you like. I still enjoy their buds, their blossoms, their fragrance – and even their thorns. Don't you want to write a story about roses? You've already painted many." I thought of my rose paintings and different painting situations. And suddenly my thoughts were drawn to my grandfather's front garden.

"Yes, I can think of a story," I said to Eva, who was already looking at me expectantly. "I was about 10 years old at the time and had just moved from primary school to grammar school. My biology teacher, a friendly old man in a white coat, encouraged us to observe and experiment with plants. He was a good educator and I was soon eager to collect all kinds of flowers. I pressed them between blotting papers in thick books so that I could later paste them into my own plant identification book.

My grandfather was a rose grower with a penchant for red roses. But in the middle of my flower collecting fever, I discovered a small rose bush with a single blue flower in the sea of red blossoms in his front garden. I was immediately electrified, because I had never seen a blue rose before. The colour was a strong, but at the same time light blue and the longer I looked at the well-formed blossom, the more beautiful and unique it seemed to me – like the blue miracle flower in one of my fairy tale books.

At the time, it seemed almost a necessity to secretly cut it off, take it home and press it. I wanted to preserve it, the beautiful rose should not wither. As I said, I was still a child. But thanks to that flower, I learned an important lesson for life."

"I'm sure your grandfather found out and told you off," Eva assumed. – "No, not that. But the flower lost its blue colour when it dried and turned ash-grey. I hadn't saved it at all, on the contrary. Besides, my grandfather was really angry and sad because someone had stolen his 'Blue Carnival' from the front garden. I never admitted it, but I never did anything like that again. Above all, I stopped collecting and pressing flowers at that time. Instead, I started painting them for my identification book. Among them were roses time and again. Like you, I particularly like the red ones." My grandfather's little rose bush never bloomed a second time and was gone from his front garden the very next year. Although I am always on the lookout for it, I have not come across a 'Blue Carnival' again since. Time strips every rose of its petals, but not the memory of this one.

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