Midsummer Florida

Summertime in Southwest Florida has a rhythm of its own.  It’s a pattern of heat and moisture and rain and cooling.  It’s a time of luxuriant growth for the plants adapted to it.  It’s also a time when I notice young lizards and birds and bunnies out and about, learning the ways of the world. 

Storm coming.

  Our rainy season typically starts the first part of June, sometimes late May.  The days are hot, spilling over with intense bright light as the clouds start forming.  Smaller cotton-ball clouds gather and grow from the moisture that evaporates and rises from the warming land and earth-bound waters.  Boundless clear blue skies start filling up with towering cumulus clouds, sometimes building many miles upwards.

 The clouds roll in from the Everglades, sunlit white, gathering colors of violet, blue, and dark gray along the bottoms and up through the centers.  The air feels a bit cooler when the clouds hide the sun, but it’s still quite humid.  When water saturation reaches a critical point, the rain starts, typically late afternoon.  The other night we had torrential rain off and on for hours – along with booming thunder and sporadic lightning.  Abundant water recharges our underground aquifers, and brings on an explosion of plant growth.

 

So much nature can be seen in suburban spaces.

The flowers of spring are turning into fruits now – nearby I see Simpson stopper ripening, seagrape (still green), cocoplum and more.  June flowers are blooming of course: a casual suburban observer might see common natives like Spanish needles, beach sunflower, and duck potato easily.  These are just a few volunteers in the space I move within every day, the ones I happen to stop and notice.  I also see the birds and their nests, an occasional small black snake, and young Eastern cottontails (one every day!), and other signs of procreation and growth.

 This is our lazy summer rhythm, the days hot and humid, then the clouds and rain, cooler but wet.  Nothing drenches and soaks to the bone like a Florida summer rain.  We’ve just passed the Summer Solstice and the days still feel long, although they are starting to shorten.  Our rainy season continues through the lingering months of July, August and September, and by mid-October I imagine a massive collective sigh of relief among residents.  We may still have the potential for tropical storms and hurricanes until the end of November, but at least we’ll be more comfortable.

No matter what's going on in the human world, the natural world keeps marking time, finding its own rhythms, confirming new life.  These are the drumbeats that feed my soul and the music that helps me make sense of life. 

Munching on a bit of grass.

Media:
Mechanical pencil .7mm
Micron Pigma 01, black
Aquabee Super Deluxe Mixed Media sketchbook
Daniel Smith watercolors, Botanical Floral half-pan set
Niji waterbush, round M

I am from: using nature memories to define who we are and to celebrate our unique sense of place.

The inspiration

Recently I came across an article about the “I Am From” poem and the project that flowed from it.  The poems moved me deeply as I read through the unique and diverse experiences reflected in the poems people submitted.   Some of them, very powerful and moving.  The original poem and catalyst for this project was written by George Ella Lyons.  People are welcome to submit poems to the project’s Facebook page and website, and have even created videos for YouTube.  They do this individually or as a group.  There is a wonderful video of a collaborative fabric art project that not only celebrates each unique person, but creates a strong sense of place as a whole.

 I wrote a poem for myself and was surprised at the countless sights, sounds, and events that define who I am today! It includes good parts and the not-so-good, and some of the pain that emerged during this process.   I suggest a focus on what is true, but to also look for the good.  Good seems to endure and light the way, for ourselves but also for others.   I submitted this poem to the website, and hope it will be added to the “river of voices” and the amazing diversity of experiences.

 A nature perspective

Then I wondered if condensing my focus to nature would also work and tried it out – you can read that result below.  This process inspired me to add the words and resulting imagery to my nature journal.  I loved the renewed connection to the nature of my childhood and beyond, and drew with abandon, not worrying about tidy lines or splashing color around! 

This was such a memorable experience!  I suggest you try it in your own nature journal.  You can see that some of my sketches are uncomplicated while some have a bit more attention.  Some reflect that inner child.  Don’t worry about your skill level – just the basics, or even descriptive color swathes work.  Both Clare Walker Leslie and Mimi Robinson have used color shapes alone to beautifully describe environments and seasons.  Try it and see.  There are also other ways to add visual imagery:  photos, collage, prints, or ephemera such as pressed leaves or flowers, maps, tickets, fabric, and much more.

 Your own deep connection matters

It is the deep connection to place that matters, and the bits and pieces that echo place besides the flora, fauna, and geology: the colors, smells, tastes, textures, and emotions.  These have created how we view and interact with nature today.  It is a good thing to recognize the role they’ve played – and it is a good thing to expand our views when we experience another’s memories. 

 

Click to view larger.

If you aren’t sure where to start, I offer you an exercise developed just for nature.  The 2-page PDF can be downloaded HERE.  One side has suggestions and prompts, the other has my nature poem plus links to the I Am From project website and Facebook page, plus YouTube videos. 

Here is my “I Am From” poem.

I am from
knee-deep snowdrifts, frozen lashes, the searing breath of winter.
Summertime poison ivy rash and itchy mosquito bumps
chasing butterflies and garter snakes
magical fireflies and a whippoorwill lullaby.

I am from
the indigo blue comfort after a midwestern sunset
the musty taste of black walnuts and joyful sweetness of tiny wild blackberries
the bright flash of cardinal and a hummingbird’s glittering eye.
Fluttering spring beauties with tiaras of columbines
and the thrum of bees in the clover.

I am from
The mighty Mississippi,
a languid longing below
the stink of fish and duckweed
and the thrill of snapping turtles.
River bottom land, and banks and bluffs of stacked limestone.

I am from
sturdy oaks and maples,
deer trails and owl pellets
under improbably green new leaves, so delicate, glowing.
Standing in prairie grasses filled with tiny treasures
and the wind in my hair.

 

Media
Aquabee Super Deluxe 6x9” mixed media sketchbook (double spread)
Daniel Smith watercolors
Micron Pigma 01 black artist pen
Sakura Gelly Roll white gel pen 10

On the web:

I Am From Project website:  https://iamfromproject.com/

I Am From  Facebook page:  https://www.facebook.com/iamfromproject/

 Additional YouTube videos:

I Am From | Celebrating Hispanic Heritage Month by Juan Delgado, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFtXf1bAC-E

I Am From...A Poem by Aaric Pelc, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TVryvxLTIyU

And a collective project by participants of the 2020 Whole Child, Whole Day Social Emotional Learning Symposium:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PRM0-fdEJX4

 

A connection to place

I think we’ve all known special places that have deep meaning for us personally.

 Maybe we don’t always recognize it at the time.  There are several natural places that are special to me, but those with the deepest roots are woven from my childhood memories.  Colors and shapes, smells and sounds, and textures like the tactile velvet of new buds or flaking limestone. 

 The memories stay vivid and strong – some more so, some less.  Most of them comforting, but some, not so much.   They speak of my relationships with nature.  They are both known and unknown, some barely lurking within my subconscious.  What I remember most are not the events, but the feelings those connections gave me.

 

Maple leaves, owl feather, hickory nuts, and wild grape.

This is a small nature sketch done years ago, somewhere in the mid-1980s, of things collected on a walk through Iowa woods.  It was mid-autumn, and the season gave me treasures and a near infinity of browns and buff, with splashes of red and yellow.  Along the trail: leaves on limb and ground, sticks and branches and trunks and bark, seeds and frost-bitten fruits, empty acorn caps and sometimes a glimpse of gritty green. 

 The woods I rambled in are located in upper northeast Iowa, along a limestone ridge and bluff above a river.   It is a place of meditation, of quietness threaded with birdsong.   This is also a connection to a point in time.  Fall is a favorite season of mine; it feels like an important transition somehow, and I sometimes catch my breath waiting for the next thing to come.

It feels like a time to let life unwind, and a place to rest and heal. 

A sacred place.

 

Media:
Paper - unknown mass-produced watercolor paper pad, about 8x10"
Watercolor paint, probably Grumbacher and/or Winsor & Newton
     (the colors still surprisingly bright after almost 40 years)
Craft brushes
# 2 Pencil

Failure is vital for an artist

Sometimes, we all fall

“Mistakes are the portals of discovery.” ~ James Joyce

When we create something, our efforts sometimes seem to fall far short of our expectations.  This is normal.  Not only normal - it can open new doors for us, but first we have to be ready to see with new eyes.  This requires a certain mindset of non-judgement, of acceptance, of wholeheartedly embracing an idea that (to me at times) is often like cuddling a porcupine. 

We are on the first leg of our nature journal class, and our first plein air outing.  Sketching in the field is challenging enough, but if you are a beginner or brushing up on rusty skills, it can be a bit daunting!  Our group did very well, I’m glad to say.  However…

There was a bit of perceived failure among our new artists. 

“Don’t think of it as failure. Think of it as time-released success.” ~ Robert Orben

The thing we call FAILURE

can be our inner GUIDE.

If we change the word FAILURE (and all of its baggage and heavy meanings) to GUIDE, everything changes.  Now we can let the thing we once called mistakes or failures become:

our teacher     a new path     deeper growth    

discovery     enchantment     joy

!

Joyful Pumpkin – a success and a failure!

Success = process and fun

Guide = foreshortened stem needs work

We cannot live without making mistakes or knowing failure, and How We Respond makes all the difference.

Failure and expectation are entwined:  we expect, it does not come to pass, we call it failure.  I try to approach each new sketch or painting with a plan, but with an open heart and mind to process.  Often a drawing starts off one way and turns into something else.  This is creation in action – a wonderful thing!  

Sometimes what we create is successful but also contains a mistake (or more).  Don’t let the mistake part overshadow the parts that work!  If what you’ve created filled your creative soul, don't let a wrong proportion, or a stray line or ink blot take that away.  Let perceived failure be the voice of your inner GUIDE.  And be aware that sometimes a mistake can make things work better!  This is where “seeing with new eyes” helps.  Put your work away and look at it again in a few days or weeks.  Ask a trusted friend or artist what they see.  You may discover something amazing.

“It is not failure if you enjoyed the process.” ~ Oprah Winfrey 

Media
Arches hot-press watercolor paper, 140 lb.
Daniel Smith watercolor
Derwent watercolor pencil
Wax resist
About 6x9 in