Since I am a boy, I have seen my father bring home flowers and arranging them to a bouquet, which would accompany us for the week. Having taken over this tradition since then, it wasn’t until Covid’s first home confinement in 2020, that I started to study more closely the gentle ‘rise and fall’ of flowers.

And while a flower in its full strength is a masterpiece of nature’s ingenuity, its slow decay  – its withering – is what my eye feels most attracted to. When their petals are slowly getting dry and contorted, and their colours change or fade. It is then that a peculiar beauty appears, revealing – like in a 17th century still live painting – their faded past and soon approaching death. A withering moment of beauty.