What happens when we look long enough to really see?
Ever do something impulsive? I was recently inspired (yes, at the last minute) to go hiking with my two dogs one hour before sunset. Talk about a short outing!
But I reasoned, even if we get 30 minutes in the foothills, it’s worth the mini-exploration and giving my dogs some wiggle time in nature.
So with the sun low in the blue sky and no expectations, the three of us bounded into my car.
Parking on a curvy mountain roadside, we poured out of the vehicle and wandered up the first hill we found, until we came to a stop under a large dead tree.
I wanted to walk underneath it and stand beneath its enormous canopy of bare branches.
So I did.
And then I looked up.
The smooth branches circled skyward, loop-de-looping and cascading through the air above. They criss-crossed in front of one another, disappeared, reappeared, twisted outward, and reached in every direction of three-dimensional space.
Trees are God’s scribble-scrabble in the sky, I mused to myself.
Standing there, I imagined a time-lapse of this particular tree’s life.
A tiny green branch reaches upward. Another branch stretches toward the sun. Years passing. Bark growing and twisting, turning from color to color. Birds landing. Wind howling. Snow collecting. New growth unfurls from ancient branches.
Once upon a time, this tree was green, then brown. Now it is majestic gray, a smooth, flowing sculpture.
I wonder: What stopped its life-sap from flowing?
But even now, its branches are part of the life around it. They’re still a landing place for birds, a home for insects, and shelter for God’s creatures living on this beautiful earth.
Trees have always been my friends.
I remember one day when I was seven years old, I walked out of our house feeling sad and confused. There was a young tree in our yard — some kind of maple — and I remember walking up to it, standing next to it, gazing at its tender bark, my face just inches away. I stayed there a while.
In my memory, I’m almost embracing it.
I don’t remember why I felt sad that day. But I remember how it felt to stand with the tree and be comforted.
All these years later, I seek the company of trees. And I probably always will.
Find the Surprises
You don’t need to live near a mountain to experience God’s beauty in nature.
Maybe you’ve seen a flock of birds soar across a field. Or a single leaf turning brilliant orange before the rest of the tree got the memo. A flower growing through a rupture in a parking lot. The architecture inside the onion you’re cutting for dinner. A gorgeous cloud that follows you home.
God surrounds us with incredible beauty every day, and the details are astounding.
We artists tend to see it the most.
Drawing makes me notice.
I took several photographs underneath that dead old tree.
Because I love to doodle with lines in my art practice, it’s fun to imagine God creating with lines, too. Except God gets to draw lines in real 3-D space! Wow!
I enjoy blind contour-line exercises, pioneered by the great Betty Edwards. Here’s how: Let your eyes slowly follow the edge of an object, while holding a pen. Slowly, the pen follows wherever your eyes slowly travel. The point is to scarcely glance at the paper you’re drawing on.
Today, I drew the fantastical looping branches using contour line. Watch me draw it here on video.
A branch skyrockets upward, then plunges down again — where does it go next? It twirls in a loop — and what amazing texture!
The longer I drew, the more I saw.
That’s one of the things I love about art.
Drawing makes me see.
Painting can do that. Photography can, too. Poetry can do it. Writing in a nature journal can do it.
Try this for ten minutes.
Find one ordinary piece of God’s creation, and give it ten minutes of your attention.
That’s it.
It can be a bird in a tree, a leaf, your dog, a houseplant, a feather, a sunset, or the stubborn weeds growing by your mailbox.
Draw its edges. Photograph it from crazy angles. Paint four small squares using those same colors from nature. Write three sentences about it feels like. Describe it with a three-second dance.
You’re not trying to make Great Art.
You’re practicing seeing.
And when your ten minutes are over, ask yourself:
What do I notice now that I didn’t see in the first five seconds?
That question is more important than whatever you made.
Wild Wonder
I’d actually like to showcase any art you’ve created about nature in our upcoming art exhibit, Wild Wonder.
Wild Wonder is an invitation to notice and creatively respond to the beauty of God’s creation—animals and birds, trees and flowers, gardens, landscapes, oceans, stars, sky, earth, and the ways we tend and care for the creation God has entrusted to us.
You can submit something you’ve already made, or make something new. Go rummage through your sketchbooks, paintings, photographs and journals. I can’t wait to experience the way YOU see.
Submissions are open through Thursday, October 29 at 11:59pm Mountain Time, and each artist can submit up to three entries. A series counts as one entry.
Maybe don’t begin by asking, What should I make for Wild Wonder?
Maybe just go outside.
Or look out the window.
Find something small enough to overlook…
And look a little longer.
Eventually, I called my dogs who were bounding happily through the golden-brown grass. We watched the sun go down, and headed home.
Where I proceeded to remove approximately one thousand burrs from their fur.
Adventure can have its consequences. Sure, it took two hours of brushing them out, but you know what? The 30 minutes of being in nature was well worth it.
