Nature journaling (72)

Today I'm lifting a page directly out of my somewhat-daily journal, so that I can spend my time focusing less on what I have to say (because I already said it, this morning in my journal!) and more on finding some examples of the art of nature journaling to intersperse. It's a fascinating artistic subgenre, full of information, surprises, and beauty.

The sketchbook of Melinda Nakagawa, who has a
blog where she covers natural journaling

Here's what I wrote (modestly edited):

I follow a FB group called “The Nature Journal Club.” Man oh man, such beautiful, detailed work, some of it. Today, one Gargi Chugh posted 28 images from a recent trip through New Zealand. They’re definitely more “journal” than finished art, but my mind still boggles at the work that goes into such things. Me, I wander around with a camera, snap a few shots, and ultimately forget to do anything with them and they fade into oblivion. What a gift these journals are to the creator: taking the time to really look, to appreciate the detail, to find out a little bit about what they’re looking at. I wonder how much time Gargi spent each day, and whether she did it on-site or at the end of the day, a sort of recap (from photos maybe?). 

Gargi suggested this spread if one were going
to look at just one of the 28 she posted

Me, when I’m traveling, I do enjoy spending the evening finding the best photos of the day, posting them somewhere (FB, though I really should post them on Flickr…), writing some captions, and also writing in my journal (i.e., 15ing). But that leaves the day to simply be open to whatever I encounter—with the occasional glance through the viewfinder. Still, I find it can be useful to ration my attention: photos in the morning, no camera in the afternoon. Especially if I’m in one place for a few days. Plenty of time to go back for “that picture” if I happen to spot something interesting in the afternoon—and wouldn’t I want to anyway, if it’s interesting enough? And yes, sometimes my 15 will be sketchy (like some of Gargi's)—just some quick, snapshot images, without context. And often those please me the most, taking me back to a particular moment.

From the website Lily & Thistle, and a page titled
"How to Start a Nature Journal – A Beginner's Guide"

In any case, the reason I wanted to mention this is—again—pertinent to how I spend my time. I am reminded of Mary Oliver:

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, . . .
how to be idle and blessed.

And then she writes about it. I’m not especially good at being idle (unless I'm wasting time, which I'm very good at). I keep thinking it’s something I’d like to practice: attentive idleness, let's call it. Keeping a nature journal certainly isn’t “being idle.” And Mary Oliver isn’t being idle either: she’s writing a poem in her head, or actively filtering the experience she’s having with the intention of doing so. One absolutely is “in the moment” when one keeps a nature journal (I should think). The impatient gremlin on my shoulder yells, “What a stupid use of time!” He obviously doesn’t have much zen in him. In fact, he's got zero, which makes him unqualified to yell about it. Shut up, gremlin! 

John Muir Laws, from his article in Audubon,
"How Nature Journaling Can Make You a Better Birder"

Part of me would love to have the patience and eye and time (and perhaps talent, but that can be cultivated, no?—it "just" takes time, patience, and practice). But I’m more of a charger, or a flitter, like a honeybee moving from one flower to the next, sipping this nectar, then that, perhaps lingering with a flavor it finds especially appealing. (Do bees even taste what they sip?) However, boxing myself in like that—with that particular description of myself, I mean—does me no service. I love, for example, the exacting work of making a book, I enjoy losing myself in a jigsaw puzzle. You can’t charge through such activities (though you can flit with a jigsaw puzzle: yay, fit five pieces in! now on to something else!). 

From "Creating a Perpetual Nature Journal"

So what if I got out some colored pencils—I certainly have enough of them—and a sketchbook and took myself out to, say, the Frog Pond and gave myself the gift of an hour, just observing, and maybe sketching? The result might not be much to look at, but that hour would be very well spent, I'm sure.

Julia Bausenhardt, focusing on different sketching styles

A few years ago I read (and reported on) a beautiful book, part artist journal part natural history (which I guess makes it a nature journal?), called Little Things in a Big Country by Hannah Hinchman. I ran across her again just now in another blog about nature journaling by Kristin Link, in a post titled "Humans on the Landscape: Hannah Hinchman on Kinds of Nature Journals." It seems Hinchman has a few other books out, which I am now actively refraining from ordering forthwith. But I was delighted, with this short exploration, to remember her and the delight I got from Little Things. Just reading nature journals can be enough to slow you down and feel blessed to be surrounded by nature.

A page from Hannah Hinchman's journal