“I looked and looked at her, and I knew, as clearly as I know that I will die, that I loved her more than anything I had ever seen or imagined on earth. She was only the dead-leaf echo of the nymphet from long ago - but I loved her, this Lolita, pale and polluted and big with another man’s child. She could fade and wither - I didn’t care. I would still go mad with tenderness at the mere sight of her face.” ― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
A candied elegance, visually submerged with attentive sequencing in both vase and matter, these twigs present an upright sensitivity with an apparently impromptu saccharine bloom, peacocking erectly from the stark, urbane surroundings in which we find them. The vase itself showcases a gentle bulbousness rarely seen outside mid-priced fragrance ranges, and thus provides its own scent, albeit a visual one; the scent of virginal teenage nights, of lip-glossed woodland mornings, of fresh per una drapings. These Nabokovian twigs are themselves basking in memories of romance past, inviting the nearby tableaux commerciales and cool eggplant table candles to similarly shed inhibition and grasp hold of the seductive.
(Oisin Share, Guest Editor of Twigs In A Vase)