I show plastic flowers to Mother Nature’s daughter
She held a vase, her misty gaze brought them to life
I was amazed, she turned to me with a tear in her eye
~Neil Young, Plastic Flowers
We attempt to mimic Mother’s handiwork in the creation of plastic replicas of living flowers. The irony is we are creating the imitation with a substance that clogs her arteries, kills her children. The fake will never be real. They are, will ever be, a sad approximation of reality.
Someday, the plastic may be our only representation of an expired reality, may be our only link to the beauty we currently enjoy and take for granted, may be the last vestige of the wonder exuded in every exhalation of Mother’s sweet breath. If not plastic flowers then, perhaps, it will be digital images, fading photographs. Two-dimensional replicas holding the lost memories of our earthly paradise, the womb from which we emerged, the womb protecting us for centuries, the womb we are poisoning with plastic replicas of natures wonders.