May
on tending...
Hello,
In 2015 I stumbled across an Instagram account that continues to shape my life to this day. Colors of Languedoc (@colors_of_languedoc) – is a visual diary organized by color of a family’s time in a small village in Southern France. According to the header on the account, the project was envisioned by Mary Jo Hoffman and created by another family member. I’ve always struggled with the “social” aspect of online sharing, but this beautiful account planted the idea in my head that social media could become a canvas for making art.
That spark of inspiration became the beginning of my color play, an exploration that over time settled into my daily practice of recording colors found in the natural world. Little did I know how that simple commitment would flow through every corner of life. #seeing color in the garden began in 2018 as a means of processing hard things and over time has generated several unexpected opportunities, like my book, online sales, this newsletter, and a recent illustration gig. Oh, and cheese... but that’s another story for another day.
While I continued to rely on my color practice to quiet the noise in my head, the tending of everything else became more like "work" — welcome and much appreciated both professionally and financially — but nonetheless a far cry from my starting point. Last fall, my account had a brief viral moment, numbers soared as #shallotpalette became a thing. Then in late March hackers decided otherwise and took everything down. It was a hard landing. It still stings, but I'm finding that the best I can do is to return to the beginning and continue capturing color as a means of processing hard things, a bizarre undercarriage that supports me in this oh-so strange digital world of making.
I’m so glad you’re here,
xo Lorene
Recent writing: From Tuber to Super, local flower farmers share tips for planting and growing bountiful dahlias in The Seattle Times
Recent reading: STILL, The Art of Noticing by Mary Jo Hoffman Yes! The one and the same artist from Colors of Languedoc. Mary Jo’s new book is a love letter to nature and a celebration of place depicted in exquisite still life compositions accompanied by personal essays and observations.
Remember this: Spring Tonic, a recipe for a rhubarb and sweet woodruff quaff from the resource library that’s available to all paid subscribers and occasionally offered up as a free sample – who doesn’t love free samples!
On Substack: Tara Austen Weaver, creator of the enJOY newsletter, recently interviewed me about what JOY means to me and how it figures in my everyday life.
Wonder, JOY and beauty are everywhere all the time even though our cycles of attention and awareness may waver, but we can always practice, begin again, fail better, start over. I take great comfort in the circularity of it all; nothing stays the same. Celebrate the good—it won’t last. Endure the pain/anger/disappointment, knowing that it won’t last either.
JOY and all that is not JOY can exist at the same time.
Read the entire interview and follow Tara here.
Seeing Color In the Garden
One year ago today, my daily practice series, Color In and Out of the Garden, launched on Creativebug, an online learning platform where you can stream a multitude of classes on art & design, sewing, crafts and garden making. To celebrate, this month you can watch all 31 segments for FREE by clicking on the link below.
P.S. Check out my Garden Journaling class that launched on the first day of Spring this year.
In the Store
Color In and Out of the Garden is TWO! Just in time for Mother’s Day, Graduation, colorful celebrations and just because. Enter: COLOR20 at checkout and get 20% off a signed copy by following the link below.
My Colors
Some plants are rooted in memory, like this single-flowered variegated Japanese kerria (Kerria japonica ‘Picta’. I propagated it. I had it in the garden for years and then I gave it away in the big garden renovation of 2013. I bought another rooted cutting, and now I have it again.
I love a good backstory. Actually, I love most stories, it’s where I find meaning. These well-traveled oyster shells have a story that begins with my friends having dinner after a day at the Philadelphia flower show. At some point during the meal, talk turned to my daily practice and art making. Then Deb asked for a to go box for these lovely oyster shells and took them back to her hotel room and then all the way across the country to home here in Washington where, much to her husband’s chagrin, they hung out on her kitchen counter for longer than she probably expected. Deb told me about her oyster offering but several weeks went by before she had a chance to leave them for me carefully wrapped in beautiful tissue in a white bag on my front porch. Which is where my husband found them on Sunday.
Capturing pearlescent hues in oyster shells is one of my favorite subjects to paint. So of course I had to give each of the shells their own portrait to honor the effort — it should be noted that the shells were washed early on in their journey — but mostly in thanks for the attention of friends who took time to see the beauty and wonder right before them (on their dinner plate!) and think of me.
Rootbeer, bronze, toffee, Bordeaux, sherry, brown sugar, copper, dying ember, burnt sienna — I collect color names like others collect tea cups and trinkets — there’s far less dusting and naming colors enlarges my ability to see.
A bazillion years ago, give or take a while, I purchased a single plant of this iris, labeled PCH Iris ‘Juno’ from a roadside stand on a nearby island, but I have never been able to find a reference. Juno is a bulbous type of iris but this is not that. Pacific Coast Hybrid iris are crosses among several native iris. They have evergreen foliage, glorious blooms, and are as tough as can be coming through dry months, wet months, and freezing temperatures unscathed. Over the years I’ve dug and divided my plant again and again to build up its numbers.
Back in the day when we had the nursery, this was always a hot seller. When you really love a plant, it’s best if you share it.
Fashion Week in the garden with Picea abies ‘Pusch’
A simple recipe for contentment: spread a slice of hearty sourdough bread with good butter — I could stop right there and all would be well, right?
Top that glorious foundation with thinly sliced radish and sprinkle with good salt. Eat slowly while dreaming up changes to make in the garden this year.
Don’t you just love it when garden words mean more than one thing? Every single time I look at sage, I tell myself to aspire to wisdom.
The beauty of a beach is the possibility of discovering treasures: a wish ring rock, a good stick, a driftwood fort, “crabbies” — it all adds up to making memories.
Also, picture me mixing colors, painting, looking closely. Soooo stinky!!!!
Mothering
My garden grew me into being a better mother. With its many insistent tasks, the garden is a permissible escape from indoor responsibilities. Aimless hours at the end of a hose appear practical and purposeful, while fresh air and the sound of trickling water and birdsong soothe a fractious spirit.
