There’s a rhythm to nature that always seems to find its way into my art. It isn’t the polished kind of rhythm you see in magazines — it’s the real one. The flowers in my front bed bloom in their own ways, some thriving and spreading, others barely hanging on.
The other day, I spotted a honeybee tucked into the Mexican heather and snapped a photo. I sent it to my dad, who’s been keeping bees for years. That little exchange reminded me how often beauty shows up quietly, in details that might slip away if I didn’t stop to notice.
That’s why I also take my camera with me into nature. Slowing down enough to really look, I notice things that might otherwise fade into the background: a butterfly lingering on a bloom, or a rose holding onto drops of rain. And then there are the moments that surprise me — like one winter, after rain froze over the trees, leaving seed pods hanging in stark black silhouettes against a pale sky. I captured that stillness with my camera, and for me, it carried the same energy as a brushstroke — a way of honoring presence.
Not everything thrives, of course. Even in my yard, my SunPatiens are withering, no matter how much I wish I could save them. There’s a lesson in that too — beauty has its own timeline, its own conditions I can’t control.
This is the same lesson my canvas gives me. Some layers of watercolor flow together effortlessly, creating colors I never planned. Other times, I fight against the paint, trying to rescue something that’s already shifting into its own direction. Nature reminds me again and again that letting go is part of creating.
I think of the Piney River from my childhood — the slow bend, the feeder stream, cows crossing the shallows. Back then, I didn’t see it as inspiration. It was just life. Now, those memories carry weight. They remind me to stay present, to notice what unfolds, even if it doesn’t last.
The hawks that perch on my fence, the surprise of sunflower seedlings sprouting under the bird feeder — these little encounters pull me back to the truth: art, like nature, doesn’t have to be controlled. It just has to be witnessed.
So I let nature teach me. I let it show me that color is more powerful when it’s free, that not everything I plant (or paint) will survive, and that the beauty lies in the attempt.
