THE BEAUTY OF BODEGA FLOWERS THROUGH THE LENS OF Scheltens AND Abbenes

Still lives of common bodega flowers: Amaryllis. Photography by Maurice Scheltens and Liesbeth Abbenes.

THE BEAUTY OF BODEGA FLOWERS THROUGH THE LENS OF Scheltens AND Abbenes

Still lives of common bodega flowers: Gerbera. Photography by Maurice Scheltens and Liesbeth Abbenes.

THE BEAUTY OF BODEGA FLOWERS THROUGH THE LENS OF Scheltens AND Abbenes

Still lives of common bodega flowers: Gladiolus. Photography by Maurice Scheltens and Liesbeth Abbenes.

THE BEAUTY OF BODEGA FLOWERS THROUGH THE LENS OF Scheltens AND Abbenes

Still lives of common bodega flowers: Hortensia. Photography by Maurice Scheltens and Liesbeth Abbenes.

THE BEAUTY OF BODEGA FLOWERS THROUGH THE LENS OF Scheltens AND Abbenes

Still lives of common bodega flowers: Lelie. Photography by Maurice Scheltens and Liesbeth Abbenes.

THE BEAUTY OF BODEGA FLOWERS THROUGH THE LENS OF Scheltens AND Abbenes

Still lives of common bodega flowers: Roos. Photography by Maurice Scheltens and Liesbeth Abbenes.

THE BEAUTY OF BODEGA FLOWERS THROUGH THE LENS OF Scheltens AND Abbenes

“‘What did you want to be when you were young?’

I remember very well. In fact, I recall with disturbing precision: I wanted to be nothing, I wanted to live and to be left in peace. It wasn’t easy in the flowerbed, but one could manage. Tulips, dahlias, lilies, hydrangeas, and others, together — growing and fighting, fighting and growing. I often wondered what I would do with myself and of the power bestowed upon me, in that improbable corner of the improbable universe.

I always liked life, even if I didn’t know how to take it. I didn’t care about being good. Nor did I care about being bad. I didn’t want to fight. I found power and honor undesirable. I was suited for everything and anything, I wanted to enjoy life through a passionate indifference. It was the only sign of my future vocation. In the meantime I carried an irresistible desire to do nothing, absolutely nothing at all. Not that I was lazier than the others. On the contrary, there was an obscure mechanism within me — a frankly annoying one — that constantly fought against my natural nonchalance. It pushed me to work, mature, and grow more than the average. Yet the thought of finding my calling was simply terrifying, even if the idea to leave never really crossed my mind. That was before I was cut.

Look at me now, in my bucket. The party is almost over. It’s been good, really good actually. But now my wound is open, my eternity compromised. All I used to know was the sun and the water, which I learned to love. But my dreams were oscillating between nothing and everything. They were so blurry, so blinding, giving me no choice but to begin fading towards reality.

Look at me now, in my bucket. The water beneath tells me: I am to you what the sky is to birds. At last, my horizon is bare but I still don’t know what to do. Everything is all right. Everything is a pain. The void in my stem is a void that cannot be filled.

Look at me now.”

Taken from PIN–UP 17, Spring Summer 2014.

Photography by Maurice Scheltens and Liesbeth Abbenes.

Jeanne-Salomé Rochat is the editor in chief of Sang Bleu magazine and the creative director of Novembre Magazine.