The petticoat thrills of hundreds of woman shine tawdry and ridiculous in the hot sun. This peep show feels better suited for a wet-streeted back alley theater, the kind where you end up and don't remember why. I am skeptical. And frown. I feel exposed. I am the youngest person wandering these rows, and around me I hear exclamations and thrills as they inspect the furled edges, and the explosion of color. It's almost too racy for me, and I am in need of a fan to combat the heat and hide the color in my cheeks. Names like Who's Your Daddy? All Night Long, and Poem of Ecstasy give the conservative in me, a smirk and a giggle.
My Dad sent me here, to the Shreiner's Iris Show Garden. I know, it sounds like a child when I type it like that, but given this is his mecca, his shrine to the Iris gods, I thought I would pay homage for him, after all as he exclaimed I was so close. The show garden is only open for several weeks to the public, but besides being an opportunity to pomp and circumstance the vulgarities of color, it is also an opportunity to see what the bulbs look like in person, how do they fare in the heat, or how many blooms per stalk. See Dad I did listen...
I took a few requisite photos of the Iris's feeling a bit foolish, as if I was peeking at their legs, and had noticed a stray hair or something. Would I have been one to advocate putting the hem lines back down to the ankles? I came with my own tools though, and sat down to make a study of the lips of one of the purple and white varieties. It was as I moved the pastels in the directions of the veins that I began to notice how voluptuous the curves moved into and out of each other. The edges trilled with subtle color under the at-first obvious lip liner. Their throats were coated with shadow and they swallowed their own form. I could begin to see the attraction. I wonder how they would sell if the advertised the catalogue more like personals or perhaps maybe this reminded me of my own digital square pursuit of sex and love and what I chose to show of myself given my mood of the day. Suddenly, I am blushing again and I look around to see if anyone else notices, but I think, today, I am the only immature one in the art class.
The petticoat thrills of hundreds of woman shine tawdry and ridiculous in the hot sun. This peep show feels better suited for a wet-streeted back alley theater, the kind where you end up and don't remember why. I am skeptical. And frown. I feel exposed. I am the youngest person wandering these rows, and around me I hear exclamations and thrills as they inspect the furled edges, and the explosion of color. It's almost too racy for me, and I am in need of a fan to combat the heat and hide the color in my cheeks. Names like Who's Your Daddy? All Night Long, and Poem of Ecstasy give the conservative in me, a smirk and a giggle.
My Dad sent me here, to the Shreiner's Iris Show Garden. I know, it sounds like a child when I type it like that, but given this is his mecca, his shrine to the Iris gods, I thought I would pay homage for him, after all as he exclaimed I was so close. The show garden is only open for several weeks to the public, but besides being an opportunity to pomp and circumstance the vulgarities of color, it is also an opportunity to see what the bulbs look like in person, how do they fare in the heat, or how many blooms per stalk. See Dad I did listen...
I took a few requisite photos of the Iris's feeling a bit foolish, as if I was peeking at their legs, and had noticed a stray hair or something. Would I have been one to advocate putting the hem lines back down to the ankles? I came with my own tools though, and sat down to make a study of the lips of one of the purple and white varieties. It was as I moved the pastels in the directions of the veins that I began to notice how voluptuous the curves moved into and out of each other. The edges trilled with subtle color under the at-first obvious lip liner. Their throats were coated with shadow and they swallowed their own form. I could begin to see the attraction. I wonder how they would sell if the advertised the catalogue more like personals or perhaps maybe this reminded me of my own digital square pursuit of sex and love and what I chose to show of myself given my mood of the day. Suddenly, I am blushing again and I look around to see if anyone else notices, but I think, today, I am the only immature one in the art class.
