It was only a matter of time that I wrote about her. There’s a reason why the cover of my newsletter is an iris and my bio simply “pupil”. The apple of knowledge is the apple in the witch’s hand is the apple of my eye, and my eye the iris of my being. Full circle, round iris.
There’s a mythological layer to Iris, whose name is derived from the Greek goddess who collected and delivered knowledge while crossing the rainbow like a bridge between the earth and the sky. There’s also a medicinal aspect to the iris, of which the root has cathartic and purifying properties. She’s a color by herself, one of my favorites actually, purple-blue. Born in the Babylon of Mesopotamia and said to signify “a sweet message” according to the language of flowers. This post is a testimony of my admiration. To Iris, the seer alongside my profound poppy. With petals and sepals, rising and falling, all within one rainbow-bended body.
In “Bento’s Sketchbook”, John Berger attempts to depict the essence and movements of the iris flower.
“You stare at the drawing and repeatedly glance at the seven irises to look, not at their structure this time, but at what is radiating from them, at their energy. How do they interact with the air around them, with the sunshine, with the warmth reflected off the wall of the house?”
I was inspired to paint her myself. It was difficult because 1) I’m not an experienced or educated painter and 2) because the iris’s body is especially unpredictable. Even when looking at an image of her it seems she’s changed in some way with each glance. I tried to reconcile with this unending series of first sights. I’m untrained and she’s uneasy. Such a circumstance urges one to use their imagination more than I’m comfortable with, but so it was. I played along. And the shape I found, the colors I chose, they aren’t aligned with the reality of things, but a flower still comes across. An imagined iris, if you will. Maybe that’s as real as she can get.
The double meaning of the iris, being both flower and sight - captures perfectly the link between beauty and morality. For love is beautiful and not blind nor is it bound, it moves from the root should you let it live and bears witness to the otherwise unseen (realm of experience). Remembering also, that when light enters the center of the iris (pupil) it can be so bright that it looks black, and darkness may be so deep sometimes it shines white. Close your eyes to see. What difference is there now between the two? Similarly, suffering feels like dying in the exact moment that we cross the transitory rainbow’s bridge to enlightenment. Not to say pain is profound, although meaningful, joy is much more encompassing. Yet, as the deliverer of messages of passion and war, Iris must always move across the moon river and back among the clouds to protect the divine bond between that which holds our world together. Here lies a lesson in life, that a full circle needs an open eye.
Lave,
Nadias dotter