Drawing my own wild eye

I did a thing today that I don’t remember doing before. I took some time to draw my own eye.

I have drawn literally hundreds of eyes, and a good 99.7% of them are wildlife, more-than-human-beings - and I love love love drawing and painting them. It is where I find connection, where I feel like we get to see each other, for just a moment. I know some might think that ridiculous (not you, dear reader, I know if you are reading this you are kin, and absolutely get it) because I am drawing from a reference photo, not from real life. They never actually saw me. And yet, here I am, believing with my whole wild heart that we now share a connection - that individual being, and their kin, and me.

Eye to eye contact is an evolutionary biological necessity for our species. Through seeing into someone’s eyes we can determine mood and intent in ways that body language may not bely. We look to those who care for us to keep us safe. We bond with our pets because we see in each other family, and develop a love and relationship that is often incomparable in our own species, despite not speaking the same verbal language.

And we can recognise some of the thoughts and emotions on our wild kin’s eyes too - that is not anthropomorphism (and so what if it was, it is a stupid term), it is animal recognition, and spoiler alert, we are animals.

To see and be seen.

To see and be seen develops empathy, compassion, recognition, and I think this is one of the ways we will “save” humanity - by remembering to see again, to see each other, to see the wild we share this planet with, to recognise our age old bonds, to understand we are born of the same star dust, and hurting one means hurting self.

And so today I took up a pencil and scribbled my own eye.

We have two year long projects going inside Hedgerow (my membership for creative women focused on wildlife and the natural world) - Phenology wheels. One in graphite, one in coloured pencil, each featuring wild beings we are looking at in 2026 (and few shoe-ins), and in the centre, I thought it might be grand to draw our own eye.

Now if you don’t know what a phenology wheel is, you are not alone - I did not know about them until late last year either. Basically, they are a circular, pie-chart-style calendar used to visually track and record seasonal changes in the natural world over time. They are often used for botanicals, teaching what is in flower in a garden each month over 12 pie slices, for example. Or they can be over a month, so 31 slices, tracking one particular plant. I have also seen them used to document clouds and waterways - there is no end to their possibility, really.

Since we study wildlife in Hedgerow though, I wanted to use the slices to document the eyes of the beings we meet this year, to tie them all together in a web woven of curiosity and wonder, and to include our own eye as both witness, and to remind ourselves that we too are wild beings (if we remember our wildness).

The first part was taking a photo, and wasn’t that fun. I am Gen X baby, I do not do selfies.

After multiple guffaw worthy attempts, I used a mirror to help me get my eyes in the ‘right’ position for a photo.

The second part was trying in vain not to pull myself apart - oh my stars, the bags under my eyes, the increasing ‘Celtic lid’, I look so tired (I am so tired) the sun spots and sagging and urgh.

But you know who does not critique themselves in that way? Every. Other. Being.

And so I shook off the culturally imposed vanity (blowing some raspberries in that general direction) I sat down and sketched my own eye with the same curiosity and wonder that I use for every other sketch I do.

And you know what happened?

I saw myself.

And saw myself too.

I recognised that eye staring back at me - I see her in the mirror every day. I saw how when I shaded her skin it met the fur and feathers of Sloth and Black Crowned Night Heron and Snow Leopard and Koala, and her - my - very unfancy 52 year old skin belonged. She was different, but she belonged.

I am different, but I belong.

In this instance I am using graphite, so I could not show the hazel eye that stared back at me, the green flecks the indigo depths, the redness of fatigue, the blackberry hint in the brown eyeshadow. But there is a coloured pencil version to come, and I am interested to see what that brings - will that be more meaningful? Or just different? When it comes to wildlife there is a joy to determining the colours seen in the depths of an iris but it is no less wondrous to mark that with slight value variations in graphite.

I was seen and I was seen, and in a way it was a love letter to myself as much as it was to this wild Earth that I am created from. Surrounded by four of my sisters to whom I belong, another four to come, our stories wildly interwoven through space and time because of a humble graphite pencil and big, fat, wild heart.

I unintentionally created an invitation for my Hedgerow Circle, for me, to connect to wildlife in a way that seems incredulously simple, but also deeply meaningful. I mean I have done a whole series of drawings of elder women archetypes and their wild companions where they share eyesight, and yet I never thought to do that for myself.

Guess what is next on the drawing list.

All that to say, if you want to remember your wild self today, perhaps consider drawing your eye. Even better, draw it with the eyes of other wild beings. And even better yet, come join us in Hedgerow where you can see and be seen as well.

Being profoundly touched by drawing my own eye was not on my bingo card for today, but I kind of feel like I won the (wild) lottery.

And with that, time to put more seeds out for the Galahs playing raucously outside, then to sit just inside the door after and watch them, getting as close to eye level as I can, so we can see each other.

So we can see and be seen.

What a gift to find that tiny connection.