Amongst the many flowers, plants, and shrubbery in my
grandparent’s gardens grew the coleus. They weren’t my favorites, certainly weren’t the prettiest next to all the splendid spring blooms. However, I was quite fascinated with them, with the varied striation of colors and design and the soft velvety feel of their leaves. I wondered how I could sew these natural fabrics into a voluminous skirt to billow around my legs in a summer breeze. When I stumbled onto a huge patch of them after a 12 hour day at the office, I found myself stopping, my rush to get home suddenly replaced by a desire to linger in a moment past. I tried to remember why my grandmother had us pinch off the tops of the buds, a memory still hiding somewhere in my head, as I admired the lush assortment of plants dancing at my feet to the whispering evening wind. It didn’t much matter that I couldn’t recall that specific thing. Just being transported back to a time when after 12 hours, tired was still several hours away made me tingle with a delight that put a little skip in my step as I went to find my vintage car for the short drive home. 
Photographs are the beginning of a story that starts with the eye of the beholder and unfolds in the imagination of the viewer. My hope is that you let yours roam to places past, present and unknown as you…
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