violets beget violet
There may be hints of its varied hues here and there within our domicile, but purple does not play a starring role in the color scheme of any of our rooms. Still, when Dennie brought home another lovely African violet for me, it needed a pot...and any old pot clearly wouldn't do. This plant was destined for a custom, one-of-a-kind habitat in which to sink its roots.
The plan was far from simple. (Of course it was.) I'd envisioned the entire design: a faux-finished sage base, with overlapping purple petals lightly painted around the upper fourth and an embossed and hand-painted ornamental plaquette of Victorian-trade-card-style violets adhered to the front-facing side. Then the entire assemblage would be distressed to give the illusion of a time-worn antique.
Plans are great...when they work out. Sometimes, however, life sends you careening into an unexpected detour. For the last five weeks, our home has existed in a perpetual state of disarray as we deal with one of those homeowner nightmares that we actually look forward to one day forgetting. I'd completed nothing more than the pot's base coats before the project was cast aside week after week after week in favor of less fun activities. The more stuff we hauled out of one rear bedroom, the more space we required in the rest of the house to stow it. My neglected planter needed to be finished and out of the way sooner than later, yet my original idea would have required significantly more time than I could lend to the task.
For the sake of our current endeavors--and the health of the plant--I needed to pivot. I scrapped my vision and carefully decorated the pot in real, dried-and-pressed purple flowers instead. Well, mostly purple. Pressed flower petals are exceptionally fragile, so I wasn't sure they would work for this application, but the end result was authentically garden fresh--that is, at first. As the new design took root, my desire for a planter with the appearance of a long-loved treasure had not withered. Before this velvety delight could dip her toes into rich, fertile soil, I'd first send the recently purchased terracotta pieces through an unorthodox time machine. After a couple rounds of unusually enthusiastic distressing, I knew I'd succeeded when I'd held it up to Dennie and asked the one question that guaranteed enlightenment with either reply: does this look like something I'd scrub my hands ten thousand times after touching? There was no hesitation before an answer arrived in the affirmative. Mission accomplished--our violets would thrive among violet in one very, very old brand-new pot.
Next time I'm in Wonderland, I think my latest creation might also tickle the fancy of the local hatter, if only it were big enough in real life to serve such a noble purpose.
(You may have riddled out that this pot achieved its stylish new size through the magic of Photoshop. Perhaps you are correct. Or maybe I simply offered it a piece of cake, waiting for the pot to nibble and nibble until every last crumb had been devoured and the world around it seemed suddenly very small.)
See you at the tea party...but only if you're positively bonkers!