On the lovely little things that make an ordinary day extraordinary.
I have always been quite certain that the world is full of beautiful things just waiting for someone to notice them.
Not grand things, necessarily. Although I certainly wouldn't turn down a field of wildflowers in the English countryside or a little cottage with roses climbing around the front door. I have a rather serious affection for both.
But sometimes the loveliest things are much closer to home.
Today, for instance, I got to visit some friends in the nursing home, make dinner for a friend who had surgery and then, there were blue flowers.
I spent a little time at my painting table with my watercolors, a brush, and the happy intention of painting something lovely. I chose blue flowers, partly because I adore blue and partly because flowers seem to possess a cheerful sort of confidence. They bloom without asking anyone's permission, and I think there's a lesson in that.
There is something especially wonderful about painting with watercolor. You begin with a plan, of course, but the water often has other ideas. A little blue wanders into another little blue, a petal develops an unexpected personality, and before long, the painting has become a collaboration between the artist and the paint.
I rather like that.
Perhaps life would be a bit more delightful if we allowed ourselves a few more happy accidents.
I've included a video of my painting process here. I love watching flowers slowly appear on a blank sheet of paper. There is a certain magic in those first few brushstrokes, when something that existed only in your imagination begins to find its way into the world.
And then, just when I thought the day had offered up its share of loveliness, I went for my evening walk.
A Little Visitor at Dusk
Our neighborhood is filled with deer.
They wander through the yards and beneath the trees as though the entire neighborhood were one enormous garden created especially for their enjoyment. I suspect they consider us rather peculiar creatures who insist on building houses in the middle of their dining room.
This evening, I came upon this beautiful little doe.
There she stood in the grass, with the evening settling softly around her and the warm lights of a nearby house glowing through the trees.
She looked at me with those enormous, gentle eyes, and for a moment we simply regarded one another.
I would like to tell you that we shared some profound understanding about the mysteries of life, but I suspect she was mostly wondering whether I intended to interrupt her supper.
Still, it was a lovely moment.
I took her photograph because I wanted to remember it. Not because seeing deer in our neighborhood is particularly unusual, but because I never want the familiar to become so ordinary that I stop finding it beautiful.
And isn't that an interesting thought?
We spend so much of our lives waiting for something wonderful to happen. A vacation, a celebration, a new adventure, a special occasion marked on the calendar.
Meanwhile, the world is quietly offering us a thousand little wonders.
Blue flowers appearing beneath a paintbrush.
The sound of birds settling into the trees.
The golden glow of a porch light at dusk.
A deer standing perfectly still in the evening grass.
All of it beautiful. All of it free. All of it so easily missed.
The Art of Paying Attention
I think one of the greatest gifts painting has given me is the habit of noticing.
Before I began spending so much time with a paintbrush in my hand, I don't think I paid nearly enough attention to the shape of a leaf or the way shadows turn blue in the late afternoon.
Now I find myself studying flowers in grocery stores, admiring the colors of old buildings, and wondering whether the little bird sitting on the fence might make a charming painting. In fact, the photos I take on my phone for inspiration are growing out of control.
It is a rather delightful way to go through life, although I imagine it makes me a somewhat distracted walking companion.
I am forever stopping to look at something.
And I hope I never stop.
There is a beautiful sort of contentment in realizing that an ordinary Monday can hold just as much wonder as a grand adventure, provided we are willing to look for it.
Perhaps that's what I love most about making art. It gives us permission to linger.
To sit with something beautiful a little longer.
To notice the colors.
To appreciate the details.
To remember that the world is not merely a place to hurry through on our way to somewhere else.
It is a place to enjoy.
A Little Thought Before I Go
Tonight, I'm thinking about my blue flowers and that sweet little deer.
Neither was particularly extraordinary, I suppose.
And yet both made my day feel richer.
I wonder how many lovely things we miss because we're too busy looking for something bigger.
Maybe tomorrow I'll paint another handful of flowers. Perhaps I'll take a longer walk. I might even carry my sketchbook along, although I make no promises about actually using it. Sometimes it's enough just to wander and look.
Whatever tomorrow brings, I hope I remember to keep my eyes open.
Because I am increasingly convinced that a beautiful life isn't necessarily one filled with extraordinary events.
Sometimes it's simply an ordinary life, lovingly noticed.
And I think that's a rather wonderful thing.
With a grateful heart and a paintbrush nearby,
Sherri
Vine & Branch Art
A little question for you: What ordinary little thing made you smile today? I'd love to hear. I think we could all use a few more reminders of the beauty right outside our doors.
