three women in hats, an art, and a poem on hats

Cambodian girls with hats
foot masseurs in Cambodia

Someone sent me pictures taken in a rural seaside town in Cambodia. What interest me are the variety of hats the women wear. They wear modern western hats instead of the conical shaped hat they normally use to shield them from the sun and rain. The hats in the pictures add character while being functional as in the case of the fruit-vendor.

http://By Henri Matisse –, PD-US,

I decide to include The Woman with a Hat (1905) above as a treat. Can you accept the splashing of paints on the hat? I still cannot figure out the stuff in her hat which seems heavily loaded for her head.

Analysis quoted : “Matisse attacked conventional portraiture with this image of his wife. Amelie’s pose and dress are typical for the day, but Matisse roughly applied brilliant color across her face, hat, dress, and even the background. This shocked his contemporaries when he sent the picture to the 1905 Salon d’Automne. Leo Stein called it, “the nastiest smear of paint I had ever seen,” yet he and Gertrude bought it for the importance they knew it would have to modern painting. “(

Henri Émile Benoît Matisse (31 December 1869 – 3 November 1954) was a French artist, known for both his use of colour and his fluid and original draughtsmanship. His mastery of the expressive language of colour and drawing, displayed in a body of work spanning over a half-century, won him recognition as a leading figure in modern art. (Wikipedia)

Well, what do you think of Matisse’s hat? I like the variety of shades in blue and green though.

Here is a sentimental old poet about his old hat, the last stanza from My Hat! – Poem by William Henry Ogilvie (21 August 1869 – 30 January 1963 / Kelso, Scotland)  (

Though it wasn’t a hat you would bolt with

Or be anxious to borrow or hire,

It was useful to blindfold a colt with

Or handle a bit of barbed wire.

Though the world may have thought it improper

To wear such old rubbish as that,*

I’d have scorned the best London-made topper

In exchange for my old battered hat. 

*I won’t wear that rubbish on my head. LOL. (This blogger’s remark)

RDP Saturday: THREE

If flowers could talk and tell me their stories

flower story“This is my Story. A story about flowers. When you see me now I am not what I have been. I have become an art piece.” I took this picture from an oil paint picture. The original picture came from a wall of a clinic which had since been sold. The owner has retired early and is now in a far away country. The picture is one of the several in my store. This one attracts me in the brilliance of the colors. Sometimes I wonder what the fresh flowers had really looked before they were captured in oil. If only this picture could talk and tell me the story of each flower. What are their names? Where are they from? How did they get captivated by the artist? Did he/she travel far to find such beauty? Did the artist leave them in the field while giving them a more permanent home?

I have found the following poem titled “Flowers” which describes aptly the silent but comforting interaction between flowers and human. I can see the smiles on these flowers. Don’t you?


© Pearlyn

They have no mouth, but seem to speak
A thousand words so mild and meek.

They have no eyes , but seem to see
And bury thoughts into me.

They have no ears, but seem to hear
All my cries, my every tear.

They have no arms, but seem to pat
When with worries my heart is fat.

They have no feet, but seem to walk
Along with me in my dreams and talk.

They, I know, are the flowers so nice
That spread their fragrance a million miles.

Grow a few and then you’ll know
How your life is fresh and new.

With a smile so broad, I thank my God,
Whose work to imagine is really too hard.

(Poem taken from:

learning to yield

Learning (daily prompt)
rare oil flowerThis snapshot is taken from a small portion of an original oil painting of flowers that look like porcelain. Many years ago someone gave the oil painting to a medical practitioner and it occupied a prominent spot on her wall for fifteen years. When she decided to retire early and closed her clinic she had no place to hang it anymore. It lied among a group of paintings for some years. I chanced upon this when clearing the store. After giving it a clean up I took some snapshots of the flowers at various angles with and without daylight, at random and for no particular reasons. I normally do not do this kind of things. What has made me try to capture a fragment of a memory of someone else’s past?  I look at this picture and marvel at my action. It is a rare behavior as far as I am concerned. But I was not acting on impulse. I remember that morning when I looked at some old things in a store. I was looking for something else. The oil painting was in the way. So I looked at it and thought perhaps I could still find a gem here. Maybe one of the flowers I captured would one day appear in my blog somewhere somehow under a different name. I chose this particular flower because she was bending/bowing its head, perhaps nodding and saying yes. Looking at this picture again today I realize that in a way she is a rare gem. Not exceptionally outstanding and I cannot even figure out the name of the painter, and yet she has a way of making a statement by being herself. Why was she bending? Was she under the sway of the wind? Was the pressure of lifting up her head a bit heavy for her delicate stalk? Did a toddler accidentally spill some milk on her? If she is real she must be quite rare with all those colors. I am still learning.

weekly photo challenge:Rare