Stopping to Smell the Flowers

Fine Arts and Flowers made me do it. Despite months of methodically discovering the new VMFA gallery by gallery, today I think I ended up in every single one, at least for a short while. It was not what I had intended.

I'm embarrassed to say that it was my first time experiencing the Fine Arts & Flowers exhibit begun in 1987, modeled on the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston's "Art in Bloom" concept. But given the newly remodeled space, maybe there was a reason I waited until now to experience it.

The idea of creating a flower arrangement based on a work of art is an intriguing one. Sometimes the flowers reflected only the color scheme, other times it was the shape, the geometry or texture of the piece. In any case, it was a series of beautiful things to observe.

I could never begin to describe the artistry these floral designers brought to their interpretations; about the best I could do is try to share a few that captured my imagination, but it won't represent a fraction of the 76 designs I saw.

William Wetmore Story's Cleopatra sculpture reclines and the floral arrangement did the same, with the all-white flowers echoing the white marble. Entwined in the flowers was a snake, noticeable only on close inspection, but very much there.

Thomas Moran's Bridalveil Falls, Yosemite Valley was a literal interpretation of the painting. The triangular vase represented the crevice from which the white falls cascaded from above. The white flowers emerging from the vase were an exact evocation of the gushing water.

Henri Rousseau's Tropical Landscape: An American Indian Struggling with a Gorilla was perfectly depicted in a fantastical arrangement containing vivid Fauvist colors and fantastic-looking flowers. I feel sure Rousseau would have approved.

Not all of the floral arrangements were easily associated with the artwork from which they were derived. Sometimes it took some work to find the connection (the carrot in the beloved gold Large Leaping Hare) and other times it was impossible.

After viewing Maxfield Parrish's Little Sugar River at Noon, I struggled to see the relationship between the placid, almost photographic landscape and the colorful arrangement. A nearby couple apparently felt just as flummoxed.

"It's not just you," he said to me, his wife nodding. We talked about what we might be missing in the designer's floral interpretation of the painting. She mentioned that a ballot would have been a good idea for attendees. Allow visitors to pay $1 for a ballot and vote for the best job; let them pay $5 and vote for the poorest re-imagining. She may have been on to something.

At Martin Puryear's Untitled, a guy said to me, "This is like a scavenger hunt. It brings people into every gallery." True that, something I had not anticipated, since I'd been visiting the galleries so far in a logical pattern so as not to miss or rush through anything.

In addition to the 76 arrangements, there were any number of random arrangements scattered about simply for our enjoyment. A peacock near the elevator on the second floor was charming in her necklace, a massive elephant near the marble hall stood on a carpet of flowers.

And the intoxicating smell of roses and stargazer lilies was everywhere I turned. As beautiful and interpretive as the arrangements were, my favorite flowers are always the ones with the strongest scents, so there were moments when I just followed my nose.

I finished up my afternoon at Amuse, the only person at the bar and with the perennially pleasant company of bartender Tommy. The late afternoon sun is a thing of beauty in Amuse overlooking the sculpture garden; leaning back to enjoy it, I began with the Pontes Rose.

Tommy has been my genial host on my every visit to Amuse and he is delightful. We discussed the Folk Fest (he'd regretfully missed the 2 Street Festival), his talent for making fried chicken and both our plans for tonight.

I asked for a recommendation for a nibble and once again he steered me right. The curried lentil croquettes with tzatziki and harrissa were outstanding, sauced cool and hot, and with perfectly cooked lentils. I couldn't have asked for a better close to my afternoon at the museum.

Except, perhaps, to stop and inhale deeply at each of the floral arrangements I passed on the way out.

Surely smelling something so wonderful means that anything is possible. Good things, I mean.