60 pp / 235 x 190mm
Softcover
Fedrigoni papers:
350gsm Satin cover with gloss laminate
170gsm Satin text
Edition of 200
APP032
ISBN 978-1-9162385-1-0
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The bin contents are ever changing as grieving relatives decide that the flowers they leave are no longer fit to represent the love they had for the deceased. Then they are cast away on top of all the other discarded flowers and general detritus. The council workers gather every few weeks to empty the wire mesh bins and the cycle starts again. As endless as a snake eating its own tail. Sometimes there are handwritten notes with the flowers. Notes that the recipient will never see.
The bins are (to me at least) much more poignant than any grave. Each decaying bouquet or faded plastic rose meant something to someone once. Discarded tributes for the no longer here, infused with metaphor. Remember me and smile.
I walk through the graveyard most mornings. I find it a most peaceful and relaxing place. It's on the top of a hill and you can see for miles. It's beautiful. Children walk through it on the way to school. People walk their dogs there. I love the use of the space. The living mixing with the dead. When I walk through the graveyard I find myself looking at the graves with no flowers on them. The ones that never have any flowers on them. The ones so faded you can't even read the names of the people buried there. It makes me think of how one day I'll be forgotten. There's an odd comfort in that. It is the way of things and exactly as it should be.
Consider the flowers. They are there to teach you something.
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