Freedom sketched by wings in the blue

Holding onto hope

I inhale the exhale of trees
Green breath in new orange light
Silken filaments across my face and neck
Ribbons from my eight legged friends, cheering me on for being the first to cross this path today

The cockatoo are upset, evicting the white ibis from their roost at the top of the casuarinas
And for a moment the sky is filled with two very distinct silhouettes
And a cacophony of sound from those noisy sulphur crests
Then all at once they all settle together in spindly she-oak high branches
Sagging under their weight
An agreement clearly reached

The outrageous mullet of the royal spoonbill sways as he shakes his head side to side in the shallows
Gorgeous gold eyebrows flashing in dawn's early light
A great egret stands close by, ready to catch anything else disturbed and missed

The currawong sings me back across the road and onto the path home
One foot in front of the other I hear the eastern wattlebird
The swamphen’s high pitched honk
The tiny bells of wrens
The caww of the raven family

A magpie swoops angrily beside me, low to the ground, a snap of the beak, eyes set on chasing Indian mynas away
The breeze from her determined wings brushes my arm 
Everyone is nesting
Everyone is more alert 

A flash of masked grey and a white faced heron steps out of the marsh, wary but holding their ground, which is unusual
And I am grateful for a moment as we look into each other’s eyes
Good morning beautiful being
I see you

There are no bears or wolves, lions or tigers, antelope or bison
But there are birds, so many birds on my beautiful island home

I want to talk to them all
I want to fly with them all
I want to move my spoonbill through silt
I want to soar in the air and celebrate the expansion of my humanity

I let them sing me through all the thoughts
I let them sing me through all the feelings
I let them sing me through time and space
I let them sing me into hope

I have had a week of not looking at the news, at all. Things have been hard enough in my own tiny family with my brother being in hospital (he is doing so well, thank you for all your well wishes), and I knew that my heavy heart could not take any more on top. There is an undercurrent of hope lost. Do you feel it too?

I think most of us feel this way - inundated constantly with sorrow and suffering and pain, it feels like we are at a crossroads, globally. In a big way.

I found myself developing a subconscious habit that I have now turned into a very deliberate, conscious one.

Whenever I can see sky, I look for flight, and the freedom that birds sketch in the blue. 

Out my studio window, out the kitchen window, when walking, through the windscreen, walking too and from the shops, anytime I can glimpse the great expanse above my head I turn my gaze upwards and look for birds. I listen too, but sight is my strongest sense for this, mostly, ensconced in urban noise.

I had to have a bone scan for some pain in my hands and feet, and while in position for the scan, unable to move for 10 minutes, I looked between the louvres of the radiology window and saw pelicans in the distance, rising in a spiral together on the thermals so high. I love watching them do this, knowing the only reason for them to be there is the pure joy of giant wings lifting enormous belly and beak, the breath of trees holding them aloft even through gravity’s pull. 

Freedom sketched in the blue.

Video by Engin Akyurt from Pixabay

Watching the birds on my morning walk, watching birds anywhere I can see the sky, they give me hope.

And I realised that is also the reason I am doing what I am doing. 

With pigment and words I make art, I talk about art, and I teach about being a conscious, compassionate, curious, courageous creative because it's the only way I can hold onto hope. 

Hope can’t come from multinational corporations and big(oil/pharma/government/whatever). 

Hope comes from relationships with each other.

Hope comes from art.

The solution is always creativity.

Hope comes from relationships with each other, and with the wild world we are a part of, even as we destroy and ignore. Hope comes from art - be they words, paintings, sewing, storytelling, cooking, loving. The solution is always creativity - it is making with beauty and reciprocity and curiosity and rejecting the instantly-replaceable-throw-away-tear-it-down philosophy we seem to be inundated with these days. 

I do what I do for my own hope, and I hope, I hope it helps give you hope too.

If you would like to get curious about your creativity, and find a way to bolster, nurture, and grow your hope, consider joining us at The Wild Sketchbook Sanctuary.

It is for anyone curious, from beginner to seasoned experts - because it is not just about the art making (though there are tutorials for that). Yes, we will be studying wildlife and finding ways to honour them with pigment in a safe space we make for ourselves between the covers of a sketchbook. But we will be doing so much more too.

Talking about how vital creativity is, the barriers to creating and how to move past and heal from them, and all the things it really takes to be a compassionate, creative human being.

It is about slowing down, being gentle and purposeful, and honouring the speed of our very human bodies. We may not be able to fly, but we can sketch freedom - and hope - too.

We’re all about celebrating creativity, and finding hope. I would be honoured to have you there, to celebrate your creativity, because you, my friend, are so worth it.

Tell me, where do you find much needed hope? I want to hear all about it.