There is a section of ground by the front door that has been sheltered by the overhang since this house was built in 1954. When we moved in it was desolate and adorned only with a layer of dusty bark mulch, to the delight of neighborhood cats. I was determined that I would create a garden space there beneath the large picture window.
I worked at it for years, scooping out bark mulch and adding compost to the compacted soil. Finally, in one corner that peeked out enough to get a little rain, a Jacob’s ladder decided to grow. I started planting ferns, and though I lost a few here and there, for the most part they were willing to take root.
I love ferns. I love their ancient heritage and how differently they grow than other flora. I am intrigued by their similarities and differences, by their names and locations. After a number of years of collecting different varieties for the fern garden, as well as some tropical epiphytes that are kept indoors most of the year, I decided to dedicate an entire sketch book to drawing their fronds and learning about their structure. My drawings begin specifically, focused on the shapes and colors I see, but rapidly give way to imagination and whimsy.
I have added other plants and an occasional portrait to my sketchbook, but the ferns dominate. It is a shift in my focus as an artist, as much of what I have produced in the past 10 years has been an exercise in sorting out the past; often symbolic and sometimes harsh. In contrast, mapping out the curl of a new fiddlehead or documenting the shape of each individual leaf until they merge into a contented flow of color across my page is an enjoyable and relaxing process.
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