I’m in a “Botanical Collage” class at the Desert Botanical Garden. It’s a beautiful sunny day. I’m inspired. The room is full of other enthusiastic participants and, most especially, we’re having fun!
I decided to take this class—practically any art/writing-related class—hoping to spark confidence in my own creativity. I had been looking for inspiration to write more often . . . and, most especially, more nature journaling.
Similar to a personal journal, a nature journal is a place to record observations in nature. The nature journal will usually include a diagram or drawing of what you’re seeing.
And therein is my “dilemma.” I’m a good observer and inquisitive about so many things—which is why I’m drawn to nature journaling—but I’ve been letting my intimidation of my drawing ability inhibit me from doing more nature journaling.
I had earlier signed up to do a 10-week writing class. I was excited. It would be a way to make sure I set aside time each week specifically to write—with others. The day before the class was to start it was cancelled. Bummer!
That afternoon I realized something important: once I’d made the commitment to go to that class and put down my money, I had essentially “started” the class. Since that “Commitment Day,” I had already gotten back into my daily writing—my three “Morning Pages” (from Julia Cameron’s book, The Artist’s Way). I had also signed up for the “Botanical Collage” and “Nature Journaling with Watercolors” classes at the Desert Botanical Garden where I volunteer as a Docent. So . . . I was doing it anyway!
Most of the time I just start doing it—whatever it might be—until I take on something that’s a bit more intimating. My past M.O.—when faced with that something I’m feeling less-than-adequate to tackle: I’ll think endlessly about it; I’ll read about it; I’ll watch videos about it; I’ll talk about it. Certainly not the doing of it. Whether learning to rock climb or finishing my Master’s thesis. I’ll put it off. Procrastination by intimidation! But boy do I prepare. And prepare. God. The preparing. Until, finally, there’s something—or someone—that inspires me to push through the fear of “I can’t” . . . and I’ll just do it!
So, here I am, in the Botanical Collage class, and I am excited. I’m encouraged and enthusiastic . . . just being creative, and with others that want to learn and be encouraged as well. In an environment with others—and being inspired by that catalyst (teacher, another “student,” a friend, my partner)—I’ll jump in with all fours and enjoy myself. But if I’m intimidated, I’ll usually procrastinate—if I’m trying to do it alone. Yes, writing is an individual activity you do by yourself—but sometimes, to get going, and with more enthusiasm, it’s helpful to be with others doing that same thing.
So today—in this class—I’m enjoying just creating my botanical collage. I like how it turned out. I’ll keep doing whatever it takes to keep myself involved with art, with writing, with creativity. It all makes me feel alive, happy and enthusiastic. It’s fun too!
The Lady in the Leaf
She sees me.
She looks over and cares for my plant.
She brings wisdom. She sees all.
She’s green. She’s subdued but stands out.
She’s the watch keeper.
The pot is the sunlit sky of morning.
Perhaps the evening sky?
The blue of the sky.
The orange of the sunrise—or sunset?
Sunlight brings life to my plant. My aloe.
My plant rests on words of a page.
“Green Manure.” “Fungus.”
Most others “poo-pooed” (that’s a pun!) these pages.
For me, soil–and how it’s made–
seems appropriate for my potted aloe plant.
One single yellow leaf with the words “Grow,” “Grow.”
Leaves made of sky, mountains, water.
Leaves made of saguaro and prickly pear pads.
It’s all perfect for my living plant to “Grow,” to “Grow.”
Its fellow saguaro and prickly pear encourages its growth
With protection? As examples?
And the Lady in the Leaf continues her watchful wise gaze on all.