If you need me I’ll be in the garden

I am lucky enough to live in paradise, or as close to it as I’m ever likely to find in this lifetime. I am the caretaker of an acre of woodland, lovingly and painstakingly landscaped by yours truly and stuffed to the gills with a magnificent collection of trees, shrubs and rare woodland spring bulbs.

When we first viewed the house ten years ago, as soon as we came up the drive we knew we had to mortgage our very souls if necessary in order to live here (and in fact that is exactly what was required, judging by the size of our mortgage!) I didn’t give a toss about the house (which was a total wreck) but one glimpse of the dappled sunlight shining through the trees into the mossy glade and I was in love.

I’ve never been very good at yummy-mummy interior home design (it confuses me) but on the other hand I can mentally landscape a garden simply by closing my eyes and imagining it. I guess my garden is my canvas. Instead of picture frames I have planted low clipped box hedges which provide a structure which houses hundreds of shrubs, peonies, hydrangeas and roses, all carefully placed for maximum impact, and these are in turn surrounded by a carpet of colour coordinated tulips, wood anemones and rare bulbs with beautiful and obscure Latin names. Any photograph of the garden is meaningless. As any gardener knows you have to actually visit a garden in person, to look at the detail and soak up the atmosphere. You can’t learn its soul unless you are physically there.

other 1287

Three years ago my health deteriorated to such an extent that I had to give up my beloved garden and take to the sofa. Thinking about my garden when I couldn’t actually play in it made me feel sick with frustration, so instead I turned to writing about photography as a distraction and of course you’re reading the results of that distraction right now.

Things have now come full circle. My garden continues to inspire me – much of the arty-farty posts I write about are based on how I view the Art of Gardening. I simply change the language of how I feel about horticultural art to apply to nude photography. Both nudes and gardens are natural art-forms, so IMO they’re not actually very different at all.

As you folks know, I recently lost the ability to write and type for a while. Although the ability to type has come back to some extent, my brain is still short-circuiting itself in places so writing the way I used to (and as well as I used to) remains a lofty aspiration rather than a practical reality. I simply can’t process thought in the same way, and my hands won’t do what they’re told! So once again it looks like I’m being prevented from doing what I love.

To borrow a phrase I’ve used before, when Life craps on you, there’s only one thing you can do. You adapt and figure out a new way of doing things despite your set-backs. I might not be able to write or garden as often or as well as I used to but frankly this isn’t the end of either of my consuming passions.

I am looking out of the window as I write this and my summer garden is in full bloom. My roses and lilies are dripping with lush colours and brilliant red poppies are exploding everywhere. I might not tend to it like I used to, but my original creation is still there. It grows and continues to self create, both despite me and because of me.

If my garden art adapts then so must I.

And so must we all. The censorship legislation, 2257, the recession, our health, all these things which threaten our photography and our world – they are not the end. Our need to create will always be there waiting for us. Art is like that. It can’t be denied for very long because if we’re honest with ourselves, we can’t possibly live without it.

Adapt and move on. It’s what the best gardeners/photographers/writers/artists/creatives do.

other 1333