Creating a flower fantasy with the help of rose pedals (Fashion illustration of the day)

Two days ago (in this post ), I told you how I'm still creating floral collages, so here I am with my flower fantasy design of the day. Playing with rose pedals is always fun, isn't it? On another note, the book I'm currently reading is Absalom, Absalom by William Faulker. I'm taking my sweet time with this one. I was planning to read it by the end of 2017, but it is such a complex novel that I feel it demands my full attention. I often read several books at once, but this time I made an exception. As long as I'm on the subject, I would also like to suggest Light In August and The Sound And The Fury by the same author. Both of those novels are very dear to me. I haven't set any reading goals for this year yet, but I do plan to read more classics. In addition, I would like to do one month in which I would only read only non-fiction books. I think that would be very interesting. Do you have any reading goals for this year? How do you like this illustration? 

“Because there is something in the touch of flesh with flesh which abrogates, cuts sharp and straight across the devious intricate channels of decorous ordering, which enemies as well as lovers know because it makes them both:---touch and touch of that which is the citadel of the central I-Am's private own: not spirit, soul; the liquorish and ungirdled mind is anyone's to take in any any darkened hallway of this earthly tenement. But let flesh touch with flesh, and watch the fall of all the eggshell shibboleth of caste and color too.
”
― William Faulkner, Absalom, Absalom!

“It's just incredible. It just does not explain. Or perhaps that's it: they don't explain and we are not supposed to know. We have a few old mouth-to-mouth tales, we exhume from old trunks and boxes and drawers letters without salutation or signature, in which men and women who once lived and breathed are now merely initials or nicknames out of some now incomprehensible affection which sound to us like Sanskrit or Chocktaw; we see dimly people, the people in whose living blood and seed we ourselves lay dormant and waiting, in this shadowy attenuation of time possessing now heroic proportions, performing their acts of simple passion and simple violence, impervious to time and inexplicable - Yes, Judith, Bon, Henry, Sutpen: all of them. They are there, yet something is missing; they are like a chemical formula exhumed along with the letters from that forgotten chest, carefully, the paper old and faded and falling to pieces, the writing faded, almost indecipherable, yet meaningful, familiar in shape and sense, the name and presence of volatile and sentient forces; you bring them together in the proportions called for, but nothing happens; you re-read, tedious and intent, poring, making sure that you have forgotten nothing, made no miscalculation; you bring them together again and again nothing happens: just the words, the symbols, the shapes themselves, shadowy inscrutable and serene, against that turgid background of a horrible and bloody mischancing of human affairs.”
― William Faulkner, Absalom, Absalom!

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