Come wander with me a moment
Over the last few years (and even more so, I now realise, since I came to devote myself to realistic wildlife portraiture) I have had a complete re-enlightenment about my deep desire, in fact an abiding need to be more connected with our Earth, with the wild and wonderful that exists outside of manmade interventions.
In my early and mid 20’s I felt quite grounded, in the sense that I gardened and grew some of my own food, would go for walks regularly, made herbal remedies and crafts. Then as life got busier, I was in the garden less and less, I was taking on a lot more work that kept me indoors and away from the sun and the soil.
While I would still delight in the sounds coming through my windows, my deepest connections to the wild came from grand holidays or adventures planned with a focus on huge hikes. Ecuador, Peru and Bolivia when I was 35, including the Inca Trail hike to Machu Pichu. Oxfam’s trailwalker in 2012 and 2013 with both of my brothers. Nepal in 2014, hiking to the top of Gokyo Ri and seeing Mt Everest so close I felt like I could reach out and touch it. Hiking around Scotland in 2017. And in between short breaks to Cradle Mountain in Tasmania, one of my most favourite places on Earth.
These breaks away from daily humdrum and in a lot of cases completely away from technology, were so life-giving. They filled my well, for a short time anyway, and I relied on photos transferred to my computer and used as a screensaver for little top ups. So many memories, but a lot of the most vivid ones are from when I stopped, was completely present, filled with wonder and awe. And often there is not a photo to accompany that memory, that precious memory is mine alone. It seemed though, that I could only have that deeply connective time if I was away from home and my normal routine. I would covet having a house on a large piece of land, of being enveloped by forest and far away from city or suburbia. Let’s be honest, I still harbour that beautiful dream.
This last two years though, as we have been mostly shut away from the rest of the world, in and out of lockdowns, unable to leave this island, grand holiday adventures cancelled, and as my artistic growth has become an ever bigger part of my life, I realised that I needed to find that connection on a smaller, but closer and more consistent scale.
Even in the suburbs.
Creating my wildlife honourings was part of this - I don’t just observe, I become the creature I am honouring as I work, and when I am drawing reflections in their eyes and trying to see what they see, I realised that I needed to see reflections of the wild in my own eyes too.
Given the restrictions to movement we had here, that meant lots of walks around my local neighbourhood. We have a water catchment area at the end of my street, which allows for watching all sorts of water birds and finches and wrens. This was the most obvious, the most audacious visual spectacle. But as I walked more and more often, slower and with more intention, I noticed more. The smallest things that were fleeting, but that I was present to. Each moment of deep observation felt like magic, made my heart a little lighter, made me feel so very humble, and put my human woes into perspective. And even when they were not always the most beautiful observations, they were certainly the most real - for example, the shimmering, iridescent greens and blues of a blowfly on an irresponsible dog owner's waste left on a footpath. That fly was doing it’s thing, which is gross, sure, but by the same token, its colouring in the sun was mesmerising, utterly captivatingly beautiful. There were the mosses growing on the rubbery thing smooshed between the walking path pavements - olive green and drab, segmented into little squares, like little mossy bricks clinging to that rubber. Two days later I saw them again after it had rained the night before - they were a different green altogether, raised higher, and there was even a little yellowish highlight in some areas. All this goes on largely unnoticed. But it is so, so wonderful, and we miss out on all this incredibly complex, astounding abundance if we don’t slow down just a moment and take notice.
And that is what sparked this mini-series, and the month long course that will come along in a few weeks.Taking time to notice these little bits of magic, in such small and easily achievable bite sized amounts of time, invited nature into my heart and home in a more profound way. I look forward to a wander, be it in my neighbourhood or my small backyard, to seeing what I can find, to looking at more than my feet, to looking at more than where I am going, to being present rather than in my own head and barely seeing what is all around me. This is connection to me. It is being present where I am and knowing that I don’t have to be in far away places to find that connection. It is seeing the tiny magical beings under my nose, or in my trees and shrubs, it is acknowledging the personhood of the creatures around me, of the trees and rocks and hills and watersheds. And acknowledging that means I am acknowledging I am here too, I am witness to wonder.
This is suburbia, and while I constantly long to wander through cool alpine forests, there is so much nature, so much wildness, surrounding me right where I am. Right here. Right now. My own garden, the neighbourhood plantings, the small reserves and children's playgrounds that the birds inhabit as their own, the water catchment.
What a gift, right?
