It sits like a great cocoon. The pupal waiting to emerge into botanical butterflies. Glass plume house of sun and breathing plants. Here the misery lies. The artist captivated by green houses since a child, spell bound by this leviathan of glass house architecture, races to capture its charm and in two hours as the gates close, fails at his attempt. The balance of nature askew, the trees irresolute, the mountain shade uncertain, the luminous vision of glass and nature crumbling. I walk away unhappy. This the price of urgency and impatience exasperated by the rapid wane of winter light. To be contunued...
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