I told you I’d be back soon to share a couple of pages from my sketchbook, and here I am. . .
I’ve been getting outside more often lately, thanks in part to the good weather, thanks in part to that 10,000 daily steps March challenge I did. To Spring as well, coaxing all the new growth out of the ground and unfurling it on branches of trees above us. . . urging birds and bees to behave in those seasonal ways they’re legendary for.
Our container garden — just out the door, on our rooftop terrace — has been quivering with life these past few weeks: new birds at the feeder; or bouncing up and down the maple trees where, day by day, more leaves camouflage their activity; dipping heads into the basin of the fountain (although the hummingbirds prefer to hover in front of the fountain spouts and sip daintily — such a pretty sight when sunlight sets the hummingbird’s iridescence to gleam in tandem with the water’s sparkle).
And don’t get me started on the mason bees. If you’ve followed me for a few Springs, you’ll know I can wax rhapsodic on these little creatures. We began hosting these significant pollinators back in 2018, and we’ve been gratified to have a new generation here each year since. . . and on April 8th last year, so almost exactly one year ago, I posted a little video on Instagram— wherein TWO brand-new-to-the-world mason bees emerged from their winter homes and started preparing for this short season’s work.
But this post is supposed to be a short one, just for sharing two sketchbook pages recording days when I left our garden. So let me step away from the terrace with its trees and fountain and birds and bees for now (I did sketch it, quickly, yesterday morning, so perhaps a future post). . .
I’ve been following a short online course by Laura McKendry on Illustrating Nature; she offers many techniques for loosening our sketches, for freeing ourselves to find other ways to “illustrate nature” other than reproducing what we see — when, often, the reponsibility to capture realistically what we see intimidates us, freezes our potential, sets up a nasty cycle whereby we are defeated even as we begin. Instead, she encourages us to use unconventional tools (sticks, old toothbrushes, feathers) — and sets a number of useful warming-up exercises.
I’ve heard some of this before, of course, but somehow her presentation is just what I need right now, and after watching her video on Taking It Outside, I packed a little kit and visited the local botanic gardens where I crouched to draw those mayapple leaves, just emerging. . . (the individual leaves head straight up out of the soil and then open — from the top, outwards — the umbrella they form, a charming trick).
And then a day or two later, I watched her lesson on working from a photograph or video — a second choice to observing “in real life,” but often useful and sometimes necessary. Again, she suggests techniques to release us from any obligation to replicate the photograph — and these techniques also serve, happily, to obviate concerns (professional artists might have) about plagiarism. So I set to making a joyous and playful and sometimes very concentrated mess at the table with my laptop in front of me, trying to create a page that would commemorate a recent moment when Paul and I watched a pair of red-tailed hawks circle above us as we walked a favourite trail around a local lake.
Let’s just call the result “mixed-media,” shall we? I mixed up a brown to paint the underlying page, trying to come close to the hawk’s main colour. Over that brown, I did some very loose lines with a black brush pen, trying to capture the sense of the hawks in flight. You can barely see those lines because on top of them I collaged some of the heads I sketched (in ink, with a dip pen, and sometimes an old toothbrush, and a splash of watercolour or a dab of pastel) on various other papers — and a rough (playful!) ink/watercolour/pastel sketch of a hawk in flight.
The process — for both pages — was engrossing and satisfying and also surprisingly illuminating. I really had to look. And look. And look again.
Plus the bit of research I did to better understand what I was looking at. . . Staring and staring at that beak from different perspectives offered by numerous photos. Looking at where the eyes are set in relation to that beak, the nostrils . . . On another page in my journal I’ve accompanied continuous line drawings of the bird in flight with six questions that help identify this hawk that I’ve scribbled between sketches.
All this looking reminds me of a gorgeous children’s book my kids and I used to look at, Joanne Oppenheim’s Have You Seen Birds?, illustrated by Barbara Reid’s brilliantly rich Plasticine relief technique. Not because (obviously!) my illustrations approach hers in quality, but because when I’m sketching (birds or whatever) I have to look and look and look until I SEE. . .
Wow! Two posts in one week — I haven’t done that for a long while. . .
Now, if you’re wanting to chat, you know I’m listening. Here’s a question you might think about for me:
What ways have you found to move from Looking to Seeing? or from Listening to really hearing? Hmmm, the language is less clear for any parallel distinction about the remaining senses? Touching to Feeling, perhaps, but for both Smelling and Tasting we use the same words for when our sensory organs meet the phenomenal world as we do when our brain registers and engages with what those organs have perceived. . . Sorry, just thinking out loud here. Over-thinking, some of you will chuckle. So I’ll leave you with that and welcome any comments you choose to leave.
xo,
f
I do a lot of looking and noticing – quite deliberately – when out and about but it often translates into seeing after a while. Small details that I would no doubt have ignored or simply passed by now spring out very clearly, especially colours. I am sure this is a pandemic-induced desire for input and one for which I am grateful. Same with eating and drinking: not so much less being more, but enough being plenty. A gin on a Friday night, first coffee of the day, a crisp apple, homemade soup…all of them are much more pleasing to me these days. The trick will be to keep this in mind in the coming months and years. An appreciation of what is genuinely important amongst the melee. Today I am going to meet a friend for a walk and she is bringing chocolate cake. We will sit by the river (even if it is cold and rather grey) and enjoy ourselves.
Your joy in spring is contagious! I can’t get enough of new plants, birds and Mason bees so wax as lyrical as you please. The mayapple and hawk pages are delightful. It’s clear you’re enjoying the new approaches you’ve learned from your online course. I think about sketching and then I don’t do it. I’m not sure why but I’m giving myself permission not to push. Listening and hearing hmm…it seems to me that stopping talking is a great way to move from one to the other. Explaining a task or an idea to someone else or giving a presentation to an audience are also useful. I find when I’m preparing short presentations I need to work out what I want to say and then listen to myself say it several times. That’s the best way I’ve found to move from listening to hearing and then understanding what it is that I want to say. As for tasting, I remember how wonderful a single sultana tasted when I took several minutes to really savour it, so slowing down can be another useful way to heighten sensations.
A class science observation experiment with first grader grandson–planting three bean seeds in a 4" cup–has led me on a bit of an adventure. Have since transplanted the bean plant into larger pots and now it stands about 18" high and almost as wide. GS marvels every time he sees it and he periodically shows it to his teacher/class on Teams. This has led me to begin growing things from seeds for the first time (never had time when working/commuting). Probably a bit too ambitiously (e.g. assorted flowers and veggies), but it has been fun to watch the seeds unfurl. Flowers will go in the garden, but most of the veggies will be in containers on the deck.
Your joyful, loose illustrations inspire me, but I'm still hanging on to the "realistic" look with the result that I rarely sketch, which makes me sad.
We made a trip to Botanical Beach this week and took long moments of peering into tide pools to observe the life there. Golden limpets against pale and rich velvety lichen made me think of Gustav Klimt's work with his scattered pieces of gold. His are usually rectangles whereas the limpets are round, but when I came home and looked up some Klimt images, I can see why I had that association.
Annie G: Yes, Enough being plenty, I like this. Something like committing to Want what I Have. . . Hope that chocolate cake with a friend by the river was a treat (I mean, really, how could it miss?!)
Maria: Permission not to push is a very wise kind of self-care. And your thoughts on listening and hearing resonate — especially the idea of how we conceptualize what we know through the process of explaining it to others. I used to find classroom facilitation was such a good exercise in really active listening. To really hear what someone's saying is so important when you're having to sum it up for others.
Mary: Oh, that's a delightful image, you and your grandson and those seedlings. I'm sure so much of the supervisory work you've done with his schooling this last year has been wearing, but this has to be joyful!
Lorrie: Your sketches are so great! I suspect that as you settle into retirement and begin building a schedule or learning a rhythm that works, these will find their way back into your life. . . It takes a while for that to happen and I think it's good to leave some blank space for a while. . .
I love your journey,new insights,new materials and technique-always progress,new joy,always interesting (and you are always interested)….
The answer: When I'm firmly in "Now",concentrated…..more now in "new normal"than before,part serendipity part working on it
Dottoressa
Dottoressa: You're always so encouraging — thank you!
And I agree with you that this "new normal" is nudging us to do better at being in the moment. It's a learning curve! 😉
Frances, I came across this today on one of my favourite blogs and thought you might appreciate it. I love the way that people have reacted to a quiet city with imagination and flair. symbolsandsecrets.london/2021/04/15/street-art-in-and-around-brick-lane/
Annie: Thank you, this is a splendid collection and now I'm following the Instagram account. Since I can't visit London in person for a while. . .