Walking to the Studio

Now that it is May there are distractions on the way to the studio. There is a garden surrounding it that I planted and care for.

A bench I made out of a cast iron grate is along the path to the studio. It is in a sunny spot by the honeysuckle trellis. It calls me sometimes to quietly meditate or gaze.

Along the way I see sudden spurts of growth, struggling young plants pleading for attention, flowers about to bloom, and flowers fully formed.

They make me pause and attend to them. They are after all my artwork, in a way.

 I have drawn the composition and nature has painted it. That is how I feel a garden is created.

The sketching is ongoing - the rearrangement of plants, the new additions, lifting established plants to divide and propagate them, and planting the divisions elsewhere in the garden.

Thern the nurturing - the feeding, the watering, the weeding. It takes time and everyday, almost everyday, I do some caring for the garden.






























Even many of the stones that make the walls for the raised beds or stepping stones for the paths are my work. They are all in flux too, and can change from season to season.

A garden is an ongoing process. It is a place that centers me, replenishes me, though sometimes in spring or fall when there is so much to do, it exhausts me.

From the studio, when I finally get there, I have the view of my garden. I work with its peaceful and intimate beauty before my eyes. I know every plant, every stone, every tree in the garden. We are in harmony.