Sektglasikebana – Ikebana in the champagne glass

Ikebana in a Champagne glass

Ikebana in the champagne glass

Sektglasikebana

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wie ihr sicher schon gemerkt habt bin ich gerade voll in meiner Narzissenphase!

Hier ein kleiner Tip für alle die sich einmal an der Japanischen Kunst des Ikebana versuchen möchten, denen es aber an geeigneten echt japanischen Utensilien dafür fehlt:

Ikebana im Sektglas!

Hat selbst auf dem kleinsten Schreibtisch Platz, macht keine Probleme mit dem Anschneiden der Pflanzenstängel oder dem Hineinprfiemeln in obskure Steckmassen, ist in zwei Minuten fertig und die ganze Pflanze kommt optimal zur Geltung.

PS: Außerdem sieht man hier ganz genau, wenn die Blümchen wieder mal Wasser brauchen!

As you may already have noticed I’m just completely in my „daffodil-phase“!

Here’s a little tip for all of you, who want to take a try on the traditional Japanese art of Ikebana, but don’t posess appropriate Japanese utensils:

Ikebana in the champagne glass!

The whole plant comes to it’s best, There’s place for it even on the smallest desk, it causes no problems with cutting of the stems or complicated pricking into obscure floral-foams. And the best: It’s finished in less then two minutes!

PS: Also, you can see exactly when the flowers once again need some water!

Early spring

daffodil

daffodil

Early spring always remembers me to death – I know, it’s contradictions, maybe even ridiculous. Outside my walls, tiny bird’s are singing, the sunshine seem’s to be brighter and first warmer winds banish every speck of dust from the air. Everything looks as if an ancient Greek sculptor has just stopped his work and intentionally surrounded his artwork with hard shadowlines in order to give him an ultimate finishing touch.

Is it not precisely the bursting new life, burgeoning in every little corner, that clear cold light of a early March morning, that makes the losses of winter so visible, clear and aching? Here’s no colorful foliage, no dizzling fog, no glittering snow, that would graciously cover anymore every harm to a gentle forget.
They are just there, the dead mouse on the doormat, the withered Christmas flower arrangements and the slight, barely perceptible smell of rotting grass – who, believing in scientists, causes our spring feelings. They are there, bare, absolute and alone but no one percieves them next to the miracle of a freshly blossomed daffodil.