SPRING ’23
Where Our Dearest Colors
Begin to Bloom
Chapter l
WHY WILL EVERYTHING BE THIS WAY?
Oh, beloved Spring, you’ve arrived boldly once again — I hummed my favorite lines to myself, while inside, nine pots of hopeless thoughts boiled: yet again, that BELOVED SPRING seemed to have no place for a photoshoot.
The outdoors — ruled out.
Because more than the sun rolling across the blue sky or the birds chirping on branches of blooming trees, right in front of my eyes, victory dances were being stomped on by large chunks of melting slush, and the sky’s color reminded me of the most faded black T-shirt.
If outdoor spaces were ruled out, it had to be indoors.
Home — visible.
I’ve never really warmed up to concept-heavy photo studios.
What else? What else? I tapped my fingertips on the table, knowing that the deadline was fast approaching — the day when Spring must be “packed” into photos — and let my inner peace go on vacation.
Until finally:
My husband and I bowed our heads together, picked out spots that “might” work as Spring backgrounds, and set off on a search.
We scrolled through potential locations, sighing.
We sighed and scrolled.
And finally, late one evening, I closed the blue computer screen.
The next morning, rested and with a clear head, I woke up with thoughts “in bloom”:
“It doesn’t matter where.
What matters is with whom, and how.”
That mindset awakened me.
The photoshoot included the same team I always work with.
We had the most wonderful, girlish time, when after a long workday, wiping off makeup, we collapsed in front of a cozy, crackling fireplace with “well-earned” bubbles and the incredibly uplifting movie Mamma Mia.
We ate Martina’s endlessly prepared, delicious homemade food — which, as we learned from her message in the chat the night before, accompanied by a photo of a shopping cart overflowing with groceries from the store, was preceded by her teasing: “I’ll pamper you, little darlings.”
We laughed a lot.
We worked just as hard.
My ears were filled with Erika the Photographer’s traditional sighs, which in words mean:
“I don’t like it — let’s change the angle.”
And shouts that lifted us to the clouds:
“Viktoryt, wow, how beautiful!”
We giggled until half past two.
We discussed all of our little heartaches.
Then, using our feminine brains, we tried to figure out how to extinguish the damp logs smoldering in the fireplace.
For a moment, we panicked that — God forbid — the logs would mess up our heads, which would be terribly needed for the second day of the photoshoot.
Then we aired the room.
And danced to “I Can Buy Myself Flowers.”
Finally, we realized it wasn’t the fireplace making our heads spin, but the spring BLOOM we had brought with us.
Comfortably nestled in a large basket, unfolding in large white clusters of hyacinths.
Blooming, and intoxicated by the flowering and the good feeling.
We obediently arranged Spring for the photos.
Without even remembering that some time ago, our heads had been spinning not from blooms,
but from the fiery, angry thoughts that Spring had no space to dance.
It was photographed in a simple, unassuming country house.
With extraordinary people and the feeling that Spring doesn’t start in the surroundings,
but deep in the heart, and bursts forth from the simplest, most everyday things.
Mua,
V.
