the collection of another

 A treasure trove was discovered at my summer job this morning. One of the women I'm teaching art with brought in an album of post cards and clippings all featuring Fuchsias. It was found abandoned in a park. The contents were ours to admire and take.

I am always hesitant to take a found collection apart, to separate the pieces from each other. Collections are so personal, raw evidence of the sensitivity inside of someone which draws them to a certain type of creature or plant or anything. There is a clear comfort extracted from these things, and that is something I feel the urge to keep safe, even if the owner is long, long gone. 

Still, it was clear this album was going to be dismantled, and so I took some of these beautiful old cards, ranging in dates from the 1800s through the 1950s.

Who kept these fuchsias safe? Did they collect them alone, or was their love so well known that their friends helped add throughout the years? There were a few in particular that stood out to me, one being this postcard written in French circa 1928. The word "fiancee" at its closing adds a touch of something sacred. I might translate it, but it almost feels like it should be kept between Charlie and Marguerite.

I am teaching art at a camp that has been around since 1946 in a building that is far older still. Our room shares large windows and a greenhouse roof with an attic that seems to be filled with things I want to know. I kind of feel like I'm working in a Nancy Drew novel. I like the feeling of spending the summer in an odd place unfamiliar to me. Also, there are bluejays everywhere. More than anything, that makes it feel like home.

Happy summer, everyone! xo