Daily swim finished, I walk up Boulevard Prague. Then I see her sitting on a bucket holding delicate floral posies in her hands under the sweltering heat. At the end of the cold Sofian winter, it is little bunches of lily of the valley but the first day of summer was upon us and instead we have zinnias, white daisies and posies of street side flowers selling at 1 Lev (70 cents) each. I bend over a little white bucket in delight and choose a bunch. The flowers are carefully assembled and fastened with string at the base.With dabs of colour like a Chagall painting, there they sit, on my table. For the most part they are wild flowers, flowers of the gutter, but to me, she made something beautiful from what she had. That’s art, isn’t it?
Great art picks up where nature ends- Marc Chagall