0009 Persian Vase, Persian Thoughts

As you enter this quiet and peaceful sunlit room, it seems at first all space; but then your eye - as is intended – straightway drawn to that fine Persian vase which sits upon an old oak chest, its lid, polished with the wax of love and years, a crack across it somehow speaking of trials borne and overcome; the tale of life, of time, of history, of lessons learnt. The chest – it’s cedar lined, as aromatic as memory when the lid is opened – does not now hold, as when it was first carpentered, a bridal trousseau; a girl given with fine clothes to destiny - now, precious family documents that tell of rights and duties, high positions and their responsibilities, once held; past, present and future, public life and private, aromatic in the memory. The vase is cool and vivid, curls of blue and white; a cobalt blue, the colour of far-seeing beauty – the surface colour seen in deepest sea; the colour which the upper air, in flight, seems to yearn for; as if we look into the vase and through it and beyond it; the white’s so white, it speaks of purity; and here are touches of an emerald green which sets off both, as if jewelled thoughts are never far away from golden minds I am the potter, speak that vase: I am the eye that draws your eye, I am the beauty that may touch your heart; and to your mind, I bring the thought – I too was born of dust, of clay and precious water, decorated with a potter’s love; one day I shall, by that accident which reigns in life that passes, be broken into pieces and return to dust… you and I, our past is dust, our future dust – but oh, the beauty of the present that’s eternal, the joyous dancing of the here and now… cobalt blue like sea and sky, innocent as white, emerald as green fields fresh diamonded with dew..