matsurika

a quiet auction of pressed things

茉莉花 — jasmine, gathered and set down to dry; bids close by the moon, not by the clock.

Jasminum sambac

Lot No. I  ·  Closes third moon of summer

A pressing of arabian jasmine

Eleven blooms, gathered before dawn while the dew still weighed on them, laid between blotting sheets and forgotten for the better part of a season. The petals have gone the colour of old letters — that warm, almost edible ivory — and they keep, faintly, the smell of the garden they left. Mounted on rag paper with a single line of pencil beneath: for the one who waits. Provenance: a kitchen window in Kobe, 1971.

Current bid   ¥ 18,400

Lavandula angustifolia

Lot No. II  ·  Closes the night the wheat is cut

A bundle of english lavender, twice tied

Cut at the height of its blue and hung head-down in a cool stairwell until the colour deepened to dust. The stems still snap cleanly; the smell, when you crush a head between two fingers, comes back whole — that grandmother smell, that linen-cupboard smell. The string is the original, a coarse garden twine, knotted twice as if the gardener was not sure once would hold. A scrap of paper, folded small, reads only: from the long bed by the wall. Pressed and kept since the summer the river ran low.

Current bid   ¥ 22,000

Pteridium aquilinum

Lot No. III  ·  Closes when the first leaf turns

A frond of bracken fern, taken whole

A single great frond, lifted entire from the edge of a wood and pressed flat over the space of three months under a stack of seed catalogues. It has dried to the brown of a moth's wing, and the smallest pinnae are intact, each one a tiny green ghost. There is something almost architectural in it — a fan, a feather, a map of a river system seen from very high up. The collector's note, in a hand grown shaky: found the morning after the storm, the only thing not flattened. Provenance: a beech wood above Hakone, kept since.

Current bid   ¥ 9,750

Bellis perennis

Lot No. IV  ·  Closes the last warm afternoon

A common daisy, kept past all reason

Nothing rare here — a lawn daisy, the kind a child picks by the fistful — but pressed so carefully, so flat and so clean, that it has become a kind of small monument. The white rays have yellowed only at their tips; the eye is still gold. It came taped into the back of a diary, with one line above it: he gave me this on the walk to the station, and then he was gone. We sell it because the diary's owner asked us to, before she too went. Provenance: a coat pocket, then a drawer, then a long quiet.

Current bid   ¥ 3,000