May I present you with a rose?
Because as they say, a rose is a rose is a rose
But when does it not? When is a rose not a rose? And I assure you, no sweet smelling roses here. Nope, just the earthy, damp smell of maple leaves.
You see, it all started with an innocuous project I spied over on Craftster. The goal was to make a bowl using only newspaper and glue.
I succeeded. See? A bowl.
Glamour shot of aforementioned bowl.
And then I had a bowl. It sat on my desk for a few weeks, looking sad and lonely. I moved it around occasionally, but it remained empty. This bowl needed a purpose. Obviously I could not eat from it. I could not use it in the kitchen in any way. I could store things in it, but had nothing that needed storing. I couldn't put my basil plant in it, or I wouldn't be able to water the plant ever and it would die.
What is a girl with a bowl to do?
Pshaw. Go outside, and when she thinks no one is looking run around like a maniac picking up maple leaves. Rinse, repeat. (I got a few stares... no harm though. This isn't my real school. In six months I'll be gone and we'll all just be fond memories.)
And then, make flowers. There are 10 in the bowl, and maybe more on the way. There are a LOT of maple leaves here.
Now, the bowl has a purpose. The bowl has flowers. Lovely, antique looking flowers. Sort of vintage, literary roses that live a double life. Perfect for the desk of an English major with an affinity for Gothic literature. They are Gothic flowers. Gothic heroines in their own right.
But what really matters, is that they are flowers.