As a kid, I remember my grandmother always saying that time goes much faster when you are a ‘grown up’. At 50, I guess maybe I am finally understanding that I am a ‘grown up’, and it is true, time does go so fast. Yes, time flies when you are having fun, but it also flies when you move through all the not-fun and the big and stretchy stuff as well. Sure, there are those moments that never feel like they will end, but on the whole I am pretty sure last Monday was still February, yesterday July, and the last three months haven’t existed in any real sense at all.
All an exaggeration, of course, but only slightly.
I am feeling my way around for a better routine to keep me present, because of course, only now actually exists. In being present time may not slip away quite so quickly between fingers. Blindfolded, and in pitch dark, hands outstretched, knees scraping on the ground. Tap, tap, tap, it must be here somewhere. That sounds dire, doesn’t it. But it is really just a metaphor for me looking outwardly for something I need internally. It seems easier to pat around on the outside for something to grasp in hand than to rummage around in the library in my mind and heart to find what I need.
(As an aside. the whole library-core, dark academia thing, oh man, that aesthetic is tangible inside that blob of grey matter behind my eyes, endlessly complex and complicated, but so damn dreamy. I want to live there. Oh wait, I do live there.)
This year has felt really stretchy. Feelings stretchy
Stretchy. Time stretchy. Art stretchy.
Art stretchy. Feelings stretchy.
I sent 6 finished oil paintings half way up the coast of Australia to be a part of a group show in a for-real-proper gallery. I have had three tiny paintings in an overseas gallery before, but this is so much more real. Big paintings (for me). In my own country (though many many hours away).
It was - it is - stretchy. A little uncomfortable. A little scary. I didn’t realise how hard I was holding on to them, not even making 4 of them available on my website.
Vulnerable.
A lot of me.
A lot of me learning and feeling unsure and more went into them, and I guess I felt a little - I feel a little - afraid, a little tender, that something that I am both proud of and certain is dreadful would be exposed to others. For good or bad.
As though that exposure of artwork is an exposure of my own wild heart, soft and vulnerable and beating a little quickly, and afraid of being squeezed too hard. It has taken me a few days to remember that, like time ticking by, I have no control over what happens once my art is out in the world. And remembering that reminds me that external validation is wonderful, but it will never have the same impact as internal validation.
Again, patting around outside looking for something, when it was inside all along.
It reminds me that these stretchy feelings are, well, an important part of being a wholehearted human animal.
Making art that honours the wild world is a radical act of hope and presence in times of uncertainty. A creative practice is both sanctuary and strength - a place to renew spirit and remember what matters most. This is how we keep beauty and wonder alive in the world, through a creative act of reciprocity.
It also reminds me that the act of creating is for me, but what I create is for you. The you that sees my painting and knows those layers of paint and curiosity and wonder were made for you. These portraits I painted aren't just decorative - they're windows into the wild, invitations to pause and remember our place in the great web of life. When you choose to surround yourself with art that honours wildlife and the wild world, you're declaring your home a sanctuary of connection and reverence. Every wall becomes a threshold between worlds. Bridges instead of boundaries.
That feels endlessly expansive.
So, if you create art, know that the process and the practice is everything. An often very stretchy, scratchy, itchy everything. But what you make is for us all, even if you don’t share it.
You are bringing beauty into the world, and that energy does not go unseen, even if your artwork does.
And if you collect art, in this case wildlife or nature inspired art, you are choosing to live with a daily practice of connection - each glance an opportunity to remember our place in the family of things. Art honours our wild kin while nurturing our own wild hearts, creating spaces that celebrate both beauty and belonging.
The making and the seeing, these are both how we keep the conversation with nature alive. How we can invoke presence in putting pigment to surface, and in using our eyes to take that artful honouring into our bodies. The making and the seeing is presence. It is here and now.
May you find a reminder to be present today. May you feel safe in some stretching. And may the wild continue to wrap you in her warm embrace.
PS - I will share all about the show when it opens on Dec 7th! It is called WILD! (because of course it is!) and I will be right alongside 11 other wonderfully diverse Australian artists. So honoured!
PPS - Hedgerow opens for the last time this year tomorrow! If you want to get a bit stretchy and start to nourish your inner wild artist, this community of mine is the most wonderfully abundant, supportive and inspiring place.
Excited to learn more about your show!!