I just can't do it.
For a few weeks now I've been exploring the concept of digitally/photographically recreating the beautiful Victorian botanical prints that developed from the early woodcuts and first line drawings accompanying the herbals. Somehow it just hasn't sat right with me, although (and perhaps because) I find the hand drawn and painted prints quite beautiful.
These digital recreations may still be in my future, or, what I suspect is more likely, they are in my past. My orderly, accounts driven, linear thinking, straight line, left brain past. Much to my poor husband's dismay, my path over these last couple of years has been to reunite with and embrace my wildness and my wilderness. The view from my laundry window is of our back “garden”, a shambles of whatever-may-want-to-surviveness; a place where the neatly trimmed edges around cobbles, an exactly shaven lawn and (mostly) weeded front gardens dare not intrude for fear of being swallowed into the verdant profusion. I feel an instant sense of peace when I look out into the green there, where my bare feet can step directly onto grass and I can let this very special wildness teach me how much of our sustenance can be gained from what we have been brainwashed to believe serves no purpose and should be destroyed. Sprayed and hacked into oblivion.
And back to the Cordyline, the cabbage tree. A vital part of the existence of many early inhabitants of this country; it's corky wood is fire resistant enough to use for chimneys, all parts of the plant are edible, providing a source of sugar and starch; the leaves useful for weaving into ropes and sandals and having medicinal properties too. And why are they planted in our urban gardens today? Ornamental value.
This image is my botanical print.