It would be so easy to write about Venus with this photo: the beauty, the light, the symmetry, the suggested fragrance, the gorgeous growth created through the symbiosis of earth and sun, water and stem.
But my eye is drawn this time to the colors, which put me in mind of the Huber school, which uses color to great effect in its rendering and reading of horoscope charts.
The most obvious color here is the winged violet, but the dark lush of green and pinprick shocks of orange both compete with, and complete, the purple. In this way, all four aspect colors — orange and green, red and blue (i.e., purple) — are present in this close-up photo of flowers in a field.
Orange, green, red and blue represent the four different ways that energy can flow between two things: in the case of astrology, between two planets — that is, between two archetypes.
The field of green grass is the fertile ground of openness where perception occurs. In Huber astrology, the quincunx (150 degrees) and the semi-sextile (30 degrees) are rendered in green, signaling the fecundity of the open mind, of learning, of perceiving, of making decisions through information gleaned from many different corridors.
From this field of grass — receiver and channeler of water and nutrients — comes the impulse for growth. This impulse is sourced in a single seed and symbolized by red in the Huber scheme, red of initiative and activity and pushing-up through the cold winter ground to find the new spring. The essence of red lines (the 180-degree opposition and the 90-degree square) is action, restlessness, forging a path, creating new things. There is often some tension here, some work that must be done or an obstacle to overcome. The red lines are rarely easy, but they are always energized.
At the end of the red phase comes blue: the trine (120 degrees) and the sextile (60 degrees). Here the enjoyment phase starts, cooling the sweat of action, putting a lemonade in our hand and showing us to the chaise lounge, to sit back, to enjoy our work. The green has sourced the flower, the red has pushed it upward into our sights and now the blue allows us to rest. If there is yet work to be done, it is only the work of perfection, of fussing and cleaning and maybe a lazy pulling of a weed here and there. But mostly it is the energy of appreciation, a Look what I’ve done!
And then there is orange (the conjunction: 0 degrees). Orange is the tightest, most intense color, the kind of energy you get when you braid two things together so tightly that it’s hard to tell them apart. It is here, in the flower’s pistil, that the energy of receptivity, creativity and restfulness come together, where its generative ovaries and receptive stamen meet to perpetuate the life of its species. The riotous intensity is emblematic of this clashing mergence, a clashing so bright it hurts — yet it is totally natural, totally at one with the nature of the flower itself.
And so, in the end, there is something of the Venusian even in this rainbow of colors. It is the Venusian manner of bringing elements together into the perfect balance that’s needed to create and to enjoy and to continue unfolding the luscious beauty of purple flowers in open green fields through the unconscious, impulsive union of the orange.
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