I know this isn’t a peony – it’s a chrysanthemum – be patient.
I tore this image from somewhere, likely Southern Accents, no less than a million years ago. I felt like I was inside the garden. Not looking at it, but a part of it. And, since I don’t really like to go outside, my immediate thought was, “Someone should paint a room like this.” So I saved it.
And then, one hundred thousand years later, I bought a house that has a peony hedge. They must have been pretty common in my neighborhood at one time, because several remain. If I were a flower, I might be a peony. You know, a little showy.
So, anyway, again in an unlabeled Southern Accents came this:
Oh, and then I turned the page.
So. I have this little powder room at the front of my house. Just to the right as you are looking at the front door.
Tiny. Almost no grown man could walk into it and turn around. (Warning: the sight of this bathroom might be offensive to some viewers. Please be advised.)
The concept is something like this – black, matte tile on the floor,
mirrored wall to the right with a marble ledge
and a tiny, tiny nickel bar sink
wall mount faucet,
and a diminutive chandelier my parents bought on their honeymoon in New Orleans in 1963.
And four-foot tall peonies on the remaining walls. Yes?