On January 1st, 2022, my husband and I dropped our older daughter off at the train station to go back to college. I braced myself for what would be our longest time apart ever. She was excited to return to her friends and adventures! But even as I acknowledged her happiness and my happiness for her, part of me felt left behind, abandoned. I needed to find something I could control, a place to channel my energy, a safety net I could construct on my own terms. My plan, hatched that very morning? Draw trees.
I have long been envious of people who can draw from life. I came late to drawing—what art I allowed myself to do was more 3-D, or photography (both of which I still love!)—in part because I didn’t think I could draw. When I finally discovered that, with enough practice, I could put pencil, pen, or paintbrush to paper and enjoy both the process and the results, it was as if I had sprouted wings. But the way I first learned to draw, from photos, often felt limiting. I knew I would not be satisfied unless I could draw from life. My life. My lived experience.
Similarly, I have often admired people who draw—or do any sort of art practice—every day, who take themselves and their work seriously enough to carve out the time and space to do this thing they love. What do they discover about their work and themselves along the way? How do their skills develop, their interests shift?
As the grey landscape zipped past our car on the way to the train station that morning, fragmented ideas settled into a more coherent whole. I craved a challenge, but I needed to keep it manageable. I decided to spend fifteen minutes each day of the coming year drawing a tree from direct observation.
It’s been a year and a quarter since my first tree, and I have shown up each and every day. Usually I stick to fifteen minutes (longer is wonderful when I have time!). Even though some days what ends up on the page turns out better than others, I always look forward to sitting quietly with a tree. My growing stack of filled sketchbooks contains not just images of trees, but also evidence of memories and experiments, discipline, small breakthroughs, and self-respect. My safety net is working.
I have developed a few of my images into more formal, complete work. For some of these, I use materials I make myself from trees and other resources on our property—especially walnut ink from the trees that fill our hillside, and paint I made from homemade grape vine charcoal. I have also been teaching printmaking classes, and leaf prints are always a hit.
More recently, I’ve used my trees to start conversations, a jumping off point to ask, “Do you have a tree that you have gotten to know? Tell me about it.” Or, “What trees do you remember from your childhood?” I even have a tree-themed artist residency coming up! (See more below). These new connections keep me going, and I’m excited to see what comes next. Now, I still miss my daughter, but I never miss a day with my trees.
Branching Out
Rooted (Stuff I like, maybe slightly off topic.):
Interested in climate justice? Lots of resources here. (And more about one of the site’s creators, Sarah Ray, here.)
Rounded (Preview of coming attractions.):
This summer, I will have an artist residency at Swale House on Governors Island in NYC! Swale House was started by the artist Mary Mattingly, and from May through November, Creature Conserve’s Re-Imagining Conservation Exhibit will be housed there (in addition to a sister show at the National Museum of Wildlife Art).
In addition to a piece I’ll have on exhibit for the duration of the show, I’ll also share a tree-themed print-making program with visitors. A huge thanks to curator Heather McMordie, artist Margaret Boozer (with Urban Soils Institute), and Mary Mattingly for their support.
Reaching (A question for you!):
Do you have a favorite tree? Or maybe one that has become a familiar companion on your way to work or school? I’d love to hear about it!