Green glass suit
A green glass vase, filled with yellow tulips sits on a glass counter, stocked with colouful cakes.
And although the cakes are beautiful with their promise of sugary delights and the tulips speak of
spring days full of promise, it is the vase that bids my gaze .
Its a humble thing. No embellishment obstructs its lines, there is no ornament affixed to its lip. It is
transparently green and you can see the stalks of the tulips standing in the water that fills it. The
belly of the vase is round and the hue of green is lighter where the glass is stretched out to make the
shape.
And with that, it becomes a looking glass. The stalks are highlighted as if they were the most
interesting part of flowers that normally only get praise for their bright, pretty buds. It must be nice
to be regarded for something else than beauty for once. Not that the tulips know of the endless
struggle of the beautiful who feel undervalued for their other qualities, because they are too pretty.
Or the agony of those who will never be beautiful enough. Just useful, like the stalks. Good for
carrying weight. These tulips will end their lifes in a few days and only know a reality where they
are loved for the beauty of their blossoms, as well as for the way the stalks carry the proud, silken
tulip faces. They'll feel valued for the entirety of their short time on this planet. All because the
glass vases beautiful, round belly.
The darkest part of the vase is its rim. It has a mason jarry feel to it. Unobtrusive. Working glass.
Working class. Silently proud. And proud it should be. Those are lucky, whose work entails beauty.
And this glasses life is filled to the brim with beauty. It sits on a counter, also made of glass, but
white. In effect, it almost looks like the vase is levitating. The light caresses its edges just right and
it is as if the vase had flexed reality. It ascended and carried the flowers with it, to pay hommage to
all that is delicate and ornate and effervescent in life. An ode to idleness, to sunlit afternoons in
cafès. To that tingly feeling of contentment only needless beatuy can give. It learned to fly just for
the tulips. Together they transcend.
The person arranging the flowers didnt put much care into it. The flowers aren't cut to the same
length and their stalkes have big leaves on them, which will wilt them that much quicker. All of it
just shoved into the vase and then forgotten. But the visual effect is almost daring. The leaves and
stalks become an underwater forest, where the sun peeks through the stalks to find hidden creatures.
The packed buds become ripe fruits, bursting from a tree in late september, sweeter than any of the
cakes scrambling for attention underneath them. And the uneven line of flowers make them into a
sclupture, as if they had known that they are showcased in a café in Berlin and need to be edgy and
modern. Just a straight up bunch of tulips won't do, you have to have something slightly off about
your appearance. Like one head sticking out. And they elevate the humble vase with their bohemian
chic. The vase would work its magic just as well for a bunch of pink roses in a country house. It
would be the epitomy of conservative values, of betty barkley in the nineties. Of large flower prints
on sofas. Of lazy afternoons at the tennis club. But in its marriage with the edgy, yelow tulips it gets
a certain air, a je ne sais quoi, a vibe. It is relevant and current.
None of those words mean anything to the vase. It doesn't need an explanation or a reason for its
work. It just stands and holds water in its belly, while tulips rest easy. And the tulips would be
ordinary, just a crushed bunch of cheap flowers, dying, if it wasn't for the vases quiet work. But
together they become somebody. A yellow mohawk in a green glass suit.