MORNING GLORY

When my dead mother meets the flower samurai.

This film belongs to the genre that I like to call Grimoire Memoire, exploring ways of looking into the past, knowing it’s the present.

My mother, a flower warrior, came home one day, all flushed:

‘I’ve just seen the most beautiful men on earth. Japanese.’

I looked at her in disbelief. This was communist Romania.

How would mother stumble over high cheekbones Samurai?

‘You should have seen them,’ she said, and then buried herself into the oracle.

The sighting was a sign.

It’s been twenty years since her death.

I call on Toshiro Kawase to speak. I open his book of Ikebana magic.

This is mother’s bibliomantic moment.

The word is ‘Morning Glory.’

The flower samurai says:

‘Without water, cut flowers wither and die. Water is life itself. Here I have made water the focal point of the arrangement, with morning glories like the spirit of water. There is an old saying that the condition of water reflects the condition of the heart; I kept that in mind, while creating this composition.’

Mother was right. The most beautiful men on earth unscroll flow in the sharpest of dives.

The Bishamonten approves, while mother folds her hands like another Mona Lisa, lost in secret smiles, and small bones.

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