Amidst the tranquil embrace of the misty morning, I found myself standing before a scene of fading splendour, a realm where time’s touch had gentrified the grandeur of yesteryears. The waters whispered tales of opulent gatherings, the remnants of a prestigious ball, now but a wistful memory.
Baroque-style buildings bowed at the water’s edge, their facades adorned with intricate embellishments, though softened by the gentle erosion of time. Delicate pastel hues, once vibrant and flamboyant, now bore the ethereal patina of age. As the sun timidly peeked through the veil of mist, a melancholic radiance bathed the structures, bestowing upon them a dreamy allure.
The reflections upon the placid waters mirrored this softened glory, creating a surreal world where the line between reality and reverie blurred. The arches and columns once witnesses to the gaiety of society’s elite, now stood in dignified solitude, their stories whispered in the sighing breeze.
I imagined a bygone era of extravagance, where nobles waltzed beneath the chandeliers and laughter echoed in the moonlit gardens. Now, silence reigned, punctuated only by the distant cry of birds and the rippling of water against weathered stones.
In this melancholy tableau I discovered a poignant beauty, a reminder that even as time’s fingers painted over the vivid colours of the past, the echoes of those splendid moments still glistened in the hazy air, imbuing this fading splendour with an enduring, romantic charm.
Art Philosophy by Jules – Fading Splendour available here.
14 Comments on Fading Splendour
LL
25th Sep, 2023 18:09
Sic transit gloria mundi
Jules Smith
26th Sep, 2023 10:09
Exactly, LL.
the late phoenix
25th Sep, 2023 18:09
mah dahlin this watercolor keep, this castle, this fort, is that French fortress in Monty Python and the Holy Grail…
I see it all now as we’re both in our ballroom gowns: the nobles fucking in the garden, flying on the chandeliers drunk on champagne, eating deviled eggs and strawberry tarts. this truly is the Boondocks garden party. and there’s Cyrano de Bergerac finally finding love with his Roxane over the hedges with a little wingman help from the band The Police…
there are no more moonlit gardens, no more Over The Garden Wall, only two solar-eclipse gardens coming up…
*)
Jules Smith
26th Sep, 2023 10:09
Well, yours sounds like Medieval Marginalia! *)
Roger B.
25th Sep, 2023 19:09
You’re blessed to find a tranquil and unspolied spot anywhere in overrun Europe these days.
And your opening few lines …. been listening to your old Donovan vinyl lately, have you?!
Jules Smith
26th Sep, 2023 10:09
In the chilly hours and minutes of uncertainty I thought about that, Roger, but then I may as well go and catch the wind ;P
Masher
26th Sep, 2023 08:09
Nice.
You should become a writer, or summat.
Jules Smith
26th Sep, 2023 10:09
Oh God, no. You don’t earn any money doing that malarkey!
Jenni Mascha
26th Sep, 2023 17:09
This is beautiful. Brava!
Jules Smith
29th Sep, 2023 06:09
Thank you, Jenni
LSP
26th Sep, 2023 17:09
Fading splendour is some of the best splendour, especially when it goes with a perfect Negroni on the terrace of the club.
Jules Smith
27th Sep, 2023 09:09
Oh yes, LSP, that sounds rather splendid.
drjim
26th Sep, 2023 22:09
Beautiful writing, Miss Jules!
Jules Smith
27th Sep, 2023 09:09
Thank you so much, drjim!
Leave a Comment
Your email address will not be published.