There is a being that lives in the depths of the jungle in the heart of Africa. A being that was largely unknown (or thought to be an outlandish story) to the western world until 1901. But of course she was known, revered, respected, adored by the peoples she shared her land with. She is endangered, her peaceable nature and extraordinary beauty, and the very special place she lives, all working against her flourishing - against her very existence. She is sacred and extraordinary.
There is a being that we often catch glimpses of, in all her myriad subspecies, all over the world. Hovering at the edges of scruff and scrub. A momentary amazement, and she is all but forgotten after that brief glimpse. She is what we call common, she is what we call ordinary, but she is no less sacred. She sees the world with such vibrancy, knows the hidden and the small goings on that we do not deign worthy of our attention - and yet she was given the same name in many languages. And for something that she does as an adaptation to not having the right perch to sit on in the right places.
Both are untamed. Both have their own magic. Both are thought of as other or separate - for most of us anyway - but both are made of the same stardust as we are. We are related, we are kin. When they suffer, so do we. When they are seen, so are we.
Last week I started to talk about why I have created a monthly Creative Journal for my creative women’s membership, rather than sticking with the same old tutorial mill that is perhaps easier to understand from the outside. Wildlife are our teachers in Hedgerow. We apprentice to the wild, because these beings, our kin, are so much older and wiser than we are. They have lived through ages that make our own existence look like a blink. We are related, we are kin, we are made of the same stardust, and I think it benefits us both if we know more about them than how to draw them from a single reference image and then move on.
In a journal format - in a magazine - I can go deeper, not wider. I can spend 3000 words sharing the biological facts of a being, yes, but also their behaviours, their relationship with the land they evolved with, and the relationship they have with the people who evolved around them. We connect through facts and human story, which is how we have always connected to the more-than-human people and land on which we are planted. The world is inherently global now, of course. We have instant access to information about beings we will never-ever in real life meet, even if we are the most seasoned traveller, and I think it is easy to ‘collect’ them in a way, through collecting reference in folders, through listing off the animals we want to draw, to filling sketchbooks that way too.
I say that without irony, because I have a course that does just that, 52 wild beings over a year - so I also want to say there is no morality attached either. That course, Drawn to Wild, is hugely impactful, truly transformational as far as learning to confidently draw wildlife. Nothing is black and white, there can be both/and, and in art, there are no rules. Oh, but what brings me so much joy is to connect, rather than collect.
Okapi is like the Platypus, a being seemingly put together with parts of others - Zebra legs, Giraffe neck and head, the strong shoulders and torso of a bull, and yet she moves almost silently, converses with her kin at frequencies outside of human hearing, and browses on more than 100 varieties of plants in dense Congo jungle underbrush. Oh, and her young don’t poop for the first couple months of their lives to avoid predator detection. I know, right? How lucky we are to live on a planet with Okapi.
Kestrel hovers mid air like a marionette on string. Impossibly still and focused on her tiny prey, she is found from sea level to altitudes of 4000m - and she is more closely related to parrots than to eagles. Through convergent evolution she developed that predator’s hooked beak and razor-sharp talons (murder mittens), just in smaller size, better to hunt voles and shrews and grasshoppers with. She has the malar stripes of all falcons, and she was common in Egypt during its ancient development - she is in their language, an inspiration for their religious origin story, and yet we are still learning more and more about her today. How lucky we are to live on a planet with Kestrel.
In a journal I can tell their story so you, the wild-hearted creative reader, can connect with them, feel that same wonder, the same awe of their very beingness. And then I can give you lots of ideas for how to connect with them creatively. Sketch ideas, writing prompts, embodiment suggestions. Ways to celebrate your creativity and find your way into your most wildly creative life. Ways to see the world that lead to your day being a whole lot brighter, your heart a little lighter, and connected just a little more to the wild world.
In a journal I can find ways to show how the being is our teacher, and the many ways we can learn from them. As part of our understanding of the place we live in, through the old stories that have been all but lost since we stopped having hearths to sit around and share them - stories of goddesses and archetypes and folktales that they play roles in - and by understanding how they are surviving now, with so much human encroachment. We celebrate the Earth’s seasonal shifts, the journal breathes with the year, we weave threads of learning with threads of our own living and we make art that shows we are creative women who make with our hands.
And in a journal I can speak to the human experience of being creative in a world obsessed with technology and perfection and disconnection. I can speak to the very real feelings that come up when we are a whole-hearted human that creates. Can give us ideas to embody the wisdom of wild beings so that we feel more complete, so that we feel held and seen and know that with all our complexity and complications that we belong. I can do this even as I learn how to practice that alongside you.
I want you, the reader, to have something you can hold in your hands and come back to (if you like to print things out). Something that is offline. Something to dip in and out of as many times as you want in tiny and big ways. The journal is a vessel, a cauldron of curiosity that inspires our month inside, but can go on inspiring you for as long as you want. It supports a depth of independent practice, of creating a wildly creative life that tutorials alone just cannot do.
It is attention, reciprocity, reverence, relationship. And it shows you how a practice with those four things at the core is possible, without doing it for you. There is a rhythm, it is sustainable, and it gives you not just a glimpse at possibility, but holds your hand and introduces the two of you.
This is what I have made, and I am really freaking proud of it. And every time one of the women inside says how much the journal means to her, I die a thousand happy deaths. This is what I made for women like you and me, women who feel at home in the wild world, who are wild of heart, and who know that creating with her hands is where the magic is.
Is it silly to get a little teary writing this out? I mean, it is not brain surgery, it is a Creative Journal. But in all honesty deciding to honour that creative part of me (which turns out is actually like 87.74% of me - the rest is anxiety, haha) actually did (and does) save my life, and I know that honouring their creativity has had the same impact for many women. If I can help inspire that in any way, oh, brain surgery notwithstanding, I feel like my work here is done.
The human world feels like a big ball of suck these days - and I made Hedgerow to try and mitigate that, where we can wonder and wander with wildlife and the natural world that you, my love, are a part of. So, if any of this lit you up a little, click the button below ⬇️, and get my gift to you - the first 25 pages of this month’s journal. And if it gives you a grin, if it gives you a little wonder and joy, come join us in Hedgerow.
Creativity is not decoration or achievement or performance, but about being present and your own beautiful self. I think you might just belong in Hedgerow with us.
With big love from this wild heart of mine,
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