I Only Smell The Rose - Do I Exist?
Saturday, May 24, 2014
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| Rosa 'Charles de Mills' July 14, 2012 |
We are often faced with the logical
conundrum, one that Socrates might have used to stump his “friends” the
Sophists on the question if a tree falls in a forest and nobody hears it fall,
the event has not happened, or has it?
My version of this one is a photographic
one. When American photographer Gary Winogrand died thousands of unprocessed
rolls of film were found. They were processed and those images saw the light of
day. Had this not happened would those photographs have existed at all? Some of
us with some knowledge of photography would have asserted that indeed they were
latent images in the unprocessed negatives.
I was thinking about this today, Saturday
May 24, 2014 as I walked in our garden about 8pm. At this hour contrast is low
and all the shades of green and the muted colours of the few flowers that are
in bloom are spectacular in a most subtle way. And this even applies to the
lurid, bright red or crimson rhododendrons that came with our house when we
moved into it in 1986.
I noticed that in our lane garden Rosa ‘Splendens’ was in bloom. This is a tiny
multi-petalled rose that is the only original rose that smells completely differently
to any other rose. In the mid 1800s Rosa ‘Belle Isis’ appeared and it had this
same complex fragrance that the English call myrrh. Rosa ‘Belle Isis’ became
one of the parents of David Austin’s first English Rose in 1968, Rosa ‘Constance
Spry'.
I have many roses with this smell that is
just about my favourite of all if I forget just for a second the existence of
Magnolia grandiflora.
The fact is that my memory is very good for
fragrances and as I approached my nose to Rosa ‘Splendens’ I was rewarded with
a confirmation that my memory is of yet not failing me.
Not, too far, but inside the garden there
was one bloom (not quite open) of the English Rose Rosa ‘Fair Bianca’. It too
has that myrrh scent but it is a bit more complex than Splendens. I would add a
bit of lemon and magnolia soap (for anybody who might have ever had a cake of
it).
The smell of those two roses and of the
rest already in bloom now, of Reine des Violettes, Redouté, Hansa, Wild Edric and a mystery rose from
Brentwood Bay Nursery for which I lost the label, made me ache in pleasure. It
felt almost like the pain one gets when one eats baklava to suddenly find out
there is a tooth cavity.
The pain came from the
realization that I am the only one who ever smells my roses. The scent is
exquisite and yet most of the people I know show no interest.
I recently went to a
wonderful concert. The Largo of a Handel sonata was so exquisite
that I felt that pain of not being able to figure out why the place was not completely
full of people. I simply wanted to share my pleasure.
So my question is, “If
I am the only one who smells my roses, do I exist?”
I am illustrating this blog with one of my favourite roses which is not yet in bloom. But the scan of the Charles de Mills (a Gallica Rose) past its prime is so beautiful that I want to eat some baklava. Fortunately I have no cavities.
