nature - The Lardner Report

I Hated Gardening! Then I Discovered It Was Abstract Art

June 30, 2018 by Lonnie Lardner

(Pic #1) Settling in to the role of nature’s mother.

I went kicking and screaming. Now, the yard is my canvas.

It’s been a dizzying transformation. And you can tell by our “before” picture (Pic #14a, at bottom) that I didn’t give a rats patootie for some time. Ugh. Having to design, till, plant, feed, water, wait, and maintain our front yard was such a daunting task, I just ignored it. Much like, as my husband observes, anything I find unpleasant. And by the way — I’ve been known to kill plastic plants.

Then one day, I saw a beautiful English garden in a magazine. It looked as if it had matured over 50 years. It was stunning, rich, and lush. That was about the same time a neighbor I didn’t know knocked on our door and said, “You know, we think your property needs some attention. If you’d like us to help out, we can. And besides, we think rats could be nesting in your yard, and we really don’t want that.”

Color me embarrassed. And suddenly motivated.

(Pic #2) From the street — sweet chaos. (All photos by Josh Kaplan.)

I decided to approach the task as I would a painting. I’m partial to abstracts, so I applied the same rules: happy accidents are a gift. Gradually I added small plants I thought were cool — with very little research on their viability under the sun, and in our rocky soil. I basically chose interesting textures, and bright, non-primary colors. Some stayed. Some left. But I let them all try to get along, and ultimately, they began to like each other.

(Pic #3) I have no idea what these little magenta velvet treats are….but they have spunk.

(Pic #4) Sometimes Josh runs out in the morning just to catch leaves collecting dew. No, he has no life.

(Pic #5) Lesson #1: Lavender vincas and Mexican feather=grass cannot be killed.

(Pic #6) Buds become little jewels.

For me, the pleasure of seeing the explosion of color every day, was more than enough. My touchy-feely husband as always, found deeper meaning. He said, “You used to say ‘I suck’ at gardening. If you had left it there, you would have missed out on this whole new world of artistic expression. But you didn’t — for whatever reason you pushed passed the limitation you placed on yourself — and the result was magical.” He’s right. As artists we are forever putting up roadblocks to our own creativity. Every time you overcome one, you plant a seed of expression — and just like with my garden — the rewards grow into unimaginable treasures.

(Pic #7) Lavender may be the heartiest of them all.

(Pic #8) Sometimes we have visitors.

(Pic #9) And sometimes, it’s just a drive-by.

(Pic #10) Cats are way happier with places to hide.

(Pic #11) No clue. You can make up your own caption here.

(Pic #12) These perky spikes are called Pride of Madeira. They can officially take over everything. So naturally I invited them to stay. Less work for me.

(Pic #13) This color can’t be real.

(Pic #14a and 14b) Top: BEFORE / Bottom: AFTER

Real-life ECO-ART From Nature’s Tiniest Builder

August 31, 2016 by Lonnie Lardner

(Pic #1) Mother hummer steals my discards for her own functional art installation. Photo by Josh Kaplan, 2016.

A 2-ounce feathered thief recycles my work for her own.

Like many artists, I hate most of what I do. I will start out with great enthusiasm, craft a piece for hours or days, worry over each brush stroke, each last detail and then, realize I hate every single drop of paint. My rational mind knows that there is no such thing as a wasted artistic experience. My logical mind tells me that even if I didn’t come up with something I liked, the process is important. I acknowledge I always learn something, either technical or emotional, from each time I try to create something. But those considerations always seemed to take a back seat to the reality that I HATE what I made, and it was a colossal waste of time. At least that was true until yesterday.

Sometime last month I had been working on a piece, sitting outside enjoying the sunshine and the birds chirping. I had taken one of Josh’s photos, and was coloring over the top of it. And as so often happens, I tore it up at the end, lamenting the hours of my life I will never get back.

Apparently though, not all the pieces of torn up art made it to the trash can — some cialis floated away in the breeze — and turned up somewhere amazing.

(Pic #2) Closeup of hummingbird nest, with sewn-in scraps of torn matte card stock.

This is our most recent hummingbird mother, (Pic #1) sitting stoically atop the nest she painstakingly built to shelter her eggs. It is made of leaves, and twigs, using spider webs for glue. But look closely and you can see that there is something else. (Pic #2) Mama bird somehow found the scraps of my discarded art, and used them to help build her nest.

I know it’s silly, but when I saw this it finally made sense to me. No artistic endeavor is ever wasted. Ever. The end result may not be what we had in mind, but as artists, we don’t always get to choose how something we create is interpreted, judged, or used.

Maybe this little story won’t help you next time you spend hours on something that winds up committed to the trash heap. But I think from here on, I will consider the long game when approaching my art, my life — when a tiny scrap of paper can become the foundation for a much bigger project, in a way smaller world.

Hacienda bougain : LL sketching copy JPG

(Pic #3) Sketching by the scene of the crime. / Mama bird lives (and makes art) in our overgrown bougainvillea.

What the Flock? The Miracle Of Murmuration

December 30, 2011 by Lonnie Lardner

A show-stopping viral video illustrates how nature can turn on us — and on itself – in a nanosecond. We must be ready.

There’s a name for this phenomenon—MURMURATION. It’s simply a massive moving flock of starlings. Technically it’s a collective noun – much like a gaggle of geese or a school of fish.

The stunning video — posted by filmmakers Sophie Windsor Clive and Liberty Smith – emerged from an evening canoe trip which had no expectations. But the duo ended up capturing one of nature’s most extraordinary sights: thousands of birds twisting and diving in shape-shifting masses – choreographing a coordinated ballet over the longest River in Ireland – the Shannon.

“We were standing down on the shore and it was like the birds literally saw us on their island, chatted about it and gathered above our heads. It was such a rush and we were utterly overwhelmed,” said Sophie.

According to TIME’s London bureau, “No one knows why they do it. Yet each fall, thousands of starlings dance in the twilight above Gretna, Scotland, having migrated in the millions from Russia and Scandinavia to escape winter’s bite.” Scientists aren’t sure how they do it, either. “Even complex algorithmic models haven’t yet explained the starlings’ acrobatics, which rely on the tiny bird’s quicksilver reaction time of under 100 milliseconds to avoid aerial collisions—and predators.”

The lesson?

Sometimes nature chooses us to share her secrets or witness her show of force. We never really know exactly where or when she might strike. But wouldn’t it be cool if we could always be ready — for that life-altering moment — when she taps us on the shoulder and says, “Watch this.”