The rosette was a flower carved into stone. A circle of petals radiating from a center point. The mason carved the rosette into the lintel above the door or the panel between the windows or the ceiling of the vestibule. The rosette was the building signature. Not the architect name. Not the owner name. The building itself signing its own face with a flower that would never wilt because stone does not wilt. The flower was permanent. The permanence was the point.

The rosette goes back to Mesopotamia. Five thousand years of the same flower on the same spot above the same door. The Sumerians carved it. The Egyptians carved it. The Greeks carved it. The Romans carved it. The brownstones on Atlantic Avenue carved it. The same pattern survived every civilization that used it because the pattern is older than civilization. The flower is the oldest symbol. The flower says life. The flower says growth. The flower above the door says this building is alive. Five thousand years of the same message and the message has not changed.

The rosette was turned on a lathe or carved by hand depending on the material. The plaster rosette was cast in a mold. Pour the plaster. Wait for the set. Pop the mold. Glue the rosette to the ceiling. The ceiling rosette hid the hole where the gas pipe came through for the chandelier. The hole was ugly. The rosette made the hole beautiful. The rosette was a frame around nothing. A celebration of the absence. The most decorated spot on the ceiling was the spot where the ceiling was missing.

The petals mattered. Four petals was a compass. Six petals was a hexagram. Eight petals was a star. The number of petals told you where the mason trained and what tradition the mason carried. The Italian mason carved five petals. The German mason carved six. The Irish mason carved four. The rosette was a passport. The building wore the mason nationality on its face and the pedestrian did not know it. The pedestrian saw a flower. The mason saw home.

Nobody carves rosettes anymore. The ceiling medallion comes in foam. Peel the backing. Stick it to the ceiling. The foam rosette weighs four ounces. The plaster rosette weighed twelve pounds. The weight was the commitment. Twelve pounds of plaster glued to the ceiling with horsehair and lime and the faith that gravity would not win today. The foam weighs nothing and commits to nothing. The foam is on the ceiling the way a bumper sticker is on a car. Temporary conviction. The plaster rosette was a tattoo. The building wore it forever because the building meant it.

See also: Dentil, Moulding