{A folded drawing of an Australian Pelican, one of three new zines by Louise.}
{A folded drawing of a Sulphur-Crested Cockatoo to perch on your shoulder.}
{A folded drawing of a Southern Boobook to perch in nearby tree.}
There are few things that bring as much green joy as reining the garden back into some semblance of shape, order, and planting new cuttings from which you hope good things will grow. This is what I have done with a small portion of my today. I have cut back the olive that tickles the clothes as they dry on the line, trimmed the banksia in hope all new growth will be closer to eye level, and placed in sandy mixture three green and large frangipani cuttings, so large they are almost tree-like. I have read you can propagate from herbaceous stems, woody stems, softwood, semi-hardwood, or hardwood, and I am hoping this is something I can achieve. Last Saturday I found three large sections of a frangipani ripped off a big old tree and left on the nature strip. I picked them up and let them dry out for a week (to allow the wound to heal over) and now I hope in time they will bloom, showing me their perfect flower white when the season is right. Their fragrance is best at night, and it serves to lure sphinx moths that I am hoping are as grand in nature as they are in name. The reference to the winged monster of Thebes from Greek mythology and the carvings of Egypt, part lion’s body, part human, all serve to make it sound fantastical to me, this sphinx moth.
Blood and bone sprinkled by handful (much to the delight of Omar as I cuddle him afterwards), tomatoes trimmed back, now I am ready to put finishing touches on an artists’ book of Louise and mine (This evening, however, I am thinking of things past) for the forthcoming 2010 Libris Awards: Australian Artists' Book Prize.
Hope Sunday finds you similarly at peace.
frangipani
ORIGIN mid 19th century: named after the Marquis Muzio Frangipani, a 16th-century Italian nobleman who invented a perfume for scenting gloves.
