On Being An Amateur
From Plant Killer to Garden Dreamer: Lessons in Growing as an Artist and Gardener
What happens when a self-proclaimed "Plant Killer" decides to grow something more than just art? This is a story about transformation, about finding magic in the spaces between certainty and curiosity.
Fresh from city life to the rolling landscapes of Nova Scotia, I stumbled into gardening with spectacular, unashamed ignorance. Growing vegetables seemed a delightful escape – a project promising fresh air, outdoor coffees, and just maybe a chance to prove my notorious plant-murdering reputation wrong.
My husband was just perfect in all this. While I chose seeds with precisely ten seconds of forethought – selecting purely based on what might have the potential to taste delicious – he handled all the practical. Raised beds appeared, topsoil was shoveled in, and just like that, I had a proper vegetable patch!
At this point, each seed became a way to redeem me from my previous plant killer status.
Discoveries came fast and awkward: cucumbers demand support (unless you enjoy an impenetrable maze of prickly leaves), strawberries aren't faulty but seasonal, and composting? Let's just say it's an art form all on its own and I moved that learning to a next year.
Before my first harvest of almost-impossible-to-kill arugula, I celebrated the tiniest victories.
Seeds sprouting.
Leaves unfurling.
Tools gradually making sense instead of feeling like mysterious implements of plant / my fingers destruction.
By mid-season, I'd transformed from Dollar Store starter to marginally ok-ish gardener. Each new tool purchase was accompanied by the growing mantra: "I wish I'd known this sooner.”
The Unexpected Classroom of Amateurism
Something profound happens when you embrace not knowing. My garden became more than just a patch of growing things – it was a living, breathing picture of creativity itself.
In the evenings, surrounded by miraculous vegetables, I'd sip mint tea harvested from my own plants, sketching different stages of growth and marvelling at how much detail in this world I was discovering (read: actually paying attention to) for the first time. My sketchbook seemed to be overflowing with stems and leaf shapes and stamens.
This journey echoed my earliest days in art – those moments facing a blank canvas, overwhelmed by what I didn’t know: from color theory, composition and shadows. At that time the volume of unknown knowledge also paralyzed me at times. But I learned a crucial lesson then that I took into this adventure:
Just begin.
Pick something to learn.
Try something small. Try something over the top.
Anything.
Trust that somehow, impossibly and wonderfully, it will come together.
From Soil to Studio: Creative Crossings
And just like the art learning helped me start from scratch in gardening, being an amateur gardener is helping me start back from scratch in traditional pattern making learning.
Currently, I'm diving into traditional pattern drawing, using Victorian-era books and V&A Archive resources like this and this.
I’ve always started my patterns digitally, even when different motifs were hand drawn or painted, but I’d like to understand more about the technicalities. To go back further. Try new things. And I feel that deeply understanding what modern pattern design is built on, from Islamic art and Medieval carpets to Arts & Crafts decorative art, will help me discover new paths.
Much like my garden, this return to amateurism feels like putting on a pair of slightly ill-fitting shoes. Each uncomfortable mistake makes the final process a little more comfortable. But worth it to end up with a process that is comfortable and will allow to dive into the actual art making without always breaking to learn and process.
But until I’m fully there I’m integrating the learning where I can. My latest pattern collection for example tells my garden story – and incorporates twisted stems and fruits that speak of plants observed, of patterns discovered, of learning embraced.
And as for my latest paintings, they blend inspiration from Charleston House’s decorative arts into the landscapes and flowers I’m used to enjoying painting.
An Invitation to Imperfection
If this resonates, wonderful. If not, no pressure!
There's no final destination in growth – only continuous, beautifully messy learning if you want it.
Some things flourish, some fail, but the magic lives in the doing and the collecting of those hard-won insights.
With each season, I'm learning (well, trying to learn!) to give my creative self the same patience I give my garden – to grow at its own speed.
Looking forward to sharing this next chapter – all its uncertainty, all its hope.
What you’ve been learning creatively lately? Leave me a note!
Warmly,
Lottie
Links & Sources:
Flower textiles (see below for images):
so kind of you!
"Just begin. Pick something to learn. [It's] an invitation to imperfection." I appreciate this reminder, Lottie! The sentiment to begin where we are in the learning process - today - and let the imperfections be there as we learn and grow as a person and in our creative expression. It's freeing! Rejoicing with you in your new garden, your new creativity, and your beautiful paintings.