Leaving the Studio to Learn How to See
I visited a flower market in the late afternoon, and walking through the rows of stalls brought a mixture of sensations. My first glance tried to take in all the colors; the second searched for species I already knew, observing their shapes and the way colors behaved across each petal and leaf.
There was a great sense of anticipation in finally seeing the forms of flowers that, until then, I had known only through photographs. Many photographs have remarkable quality. And yet, encountering a flower right in front of us is something entirely different. It feels as though a veil has been lifted, allowing other details to be seen and contemplated.
This year, with the birth of the Caatinga Field Notebook, and through the methodology I have been developing, I realized just how much leaving my studio influences the growth of my botanical art.
I am not saying that the photographs available online are not helpful to my process, because I still use them whenever I am unable to record a particular detail accurately. But leaving home, feeling the wind on my face and the sunlight touching the petals makes sense to me.
These expeditions have contributed greatly to the development of my way of seeing rather, they continue to do so. Every moment spent in front of something real teaches me something new, and that is incredible.
Exploring, or simply observing a tree, for example, can also offer experiences that go beyond whatever we are doing in that particular moment. The pause created by observation opens a small interval in the rhythm of everyday life and invites us to slow down.
Perhaps it is precisely within this interval that other things can emerge: an idea for a drawing, a sentence for a text, a new perception of what surrounds us.
And there is another possibility as well: when we begin to truly observe the place where we live, it stops being merely a backdrop. We begin to recognize its trees, its flowers, its colors, and its transformations. Little by little, we start to build a different relationship with the land around us.
And you, have you ever tried stopping for a moment and looking a little more closely at the tree in your neighborhood, on your street, or even at the little plant you grow at home?
You do not need to know its name.
You do not need to draw it.
You do not need to photograph it.
Just stop for a few minutes.
Pause. Observe.
And then notice what this small gesture can bring to your day: a new idea, a sense of calm, a detail that had previously gone unnoticed, or simply a few moments of presence.
Perhaps, little by little, you will discover that observing is also a way of becoming closer to the place where you live and to yourself.
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