Abundance

In these times of uncertainty and worry I spend as much time as I can surrounded by nature. Spring is a time of abundance and the gardens are full of examples. I trust the earth to push back on our species ill-advised disregard of the whole in service of the small-minded. Calls for political actions, marches to protect our water and ban pollution, reports on the destruction of natural areas render me speechless but determined.

Our garden in Memphis

I’ll be teaching at the Alegre Retreat in Gateway, Colorado next week. The environment there is colored in oranges, reds and dramatic blues.

Last week I was in the Mississippi Delta traveling country roads through small and large communities. The live oaks in Mississippi are dramatic examples of life lived long. Their overarching branches dipping to the ground spoke to me of ancient ways, virulent strength and abiding patience.

Mississippi delta highway flowers and live oaks

Spring is a short season. I breathe deep in hope and beauty to reassure myself that we will come to our senses. And that the cracks we are seeing in the fiber of our environments will heal.

fraud, fallout and fervor

I spent last week full of imposter-syndrome doubt. Looking around the studio I saw past efforts, early experiments and final failures. The cacophony of the surroundings not only confused me it also impeded my thought process. I kept staring blindly at the design board and finding ways to avoid anything at all having to do with making art. I walked out and sought solace in distractions. Database cleanup? yup. Instagram surfing? too much. Fabric folding and organizing? Ad nauseam. Asking questions like “what’s the point?” oh yes.

Fallout

I am a determined artist. I believe that process will bring insight and stalling is part of it. Though those gaps in activity engender a feeling of inadequacy I must try, discard, try, discard, try, discard. I have to be relentless. When I could find an opening in the doubt cloud I worked on this piece called Surge. It’s about deterioration as well as growth. Inspired by rotting wood, colonies of organisms and pathways of growth, it gave me a map to follow in my panic. Yes, it is a kind of panic for me. A feeling that I can’t come up with something original, something that transcends the obvious.

Surge, Paula Kovarik, 2022

Fervor

Nature has it right every time. As an example I have this magical driveway. Every time it rains the cracks in the surface are revealed. They fascinate me. The organic shapes and fissures tell stories. It’s like the earth below is trying to burst out. They beckon me with the mystery of that transformation.

I have begun the process of interpreting these magical messages—it’s a start for a new map. I don’t know where it will take me but I feel the fervor again. Reminding myself that it is process not product that is important.

I will start again.

exuberant distractions

How can I resist these colors? Why am I sitting in front of computer instead of grazing idly through the parkscapes gathering up the color? Fall beckons. Make haste to the outdoors.

Hardy Ageratum and Henry's Garnet Sweetspire.

Hardy Ageratum and Henry's Garnet Sweetspire.

I will continue the hand stitching on this piece (The grass was greener) outside, in the lingering spectacle.

The grass was greener, detail, Paula Kovarik, 2015

A potential stitch pattern? Hyacinth Bean vine takes over the back deck.

awestruck

Our yard is bursting with azaleas, irises, bluebells, salvia, hostas, lilies and mint.

But we don't have any peonies. So I slipped over to the neighbors yard and snipped a couple of buds from their prolific bush. Don't tell anyone.

Hard to imagine how this species decided to put so many stamens in one pocket. Looks like a party going on.

moving on

That rock and reflection in the middle of this photo reminds me of a four square patch.

Petit Jean State Park in Arkansas is a magical place. It harbors family memories, exposes changes in nature to our wondering eyes and instills a sense of miracles and beauty every time we visit. This year was no exception. Though the weather was cold and wet we were able to hike our favorite waterfall trail, one we have hiked many times. My children grew up exploring these woods and climbing these rocks. Now my grandchildren do the same. Every four years our friends join us there in an election year pilgrimage to share food, tell stories of our lives, lick our wounds if our candidates lost and rejoice with hope if our candidates win the opportunity to make our government work. I hope the tradition lingers into old age.

The photo below is a composite of the same trees taken 10 years apart. The tree on the left (shown in the middle image at the far left) has a healed over hollow and some new sprouts. The tree on the right still carries the heart shaped rock I admired ten years ago. I love the stubbornness of nature … the slow build that growth and adversity uses to form life. 

Two trees, ten years apart.