In celebration of field arts

I like to think of field arts

as the ways we translate the language of the wild into something we can understand and love . . .

Writing in our field notebooks . . .

Sketching . . .

Watercoloring in situ . . .

Nature journaling . . .

Observing and recording . . .

Field arts use primitive tools, compared to high-tech things such as cameras and apps:

A pen or pencil and paper . . .

A few pigments and some water . . .

Field arts use our brains in ways our cameras and phones cannot approach:

To study something, to draw it or map it or explain it, one must

See, not just look . . .

One learns the very essence of what makes the leaf or the flower,

the deer or the house wren . . .

Field arts use our senses to interpret the wild:

Identification skills . . .

Tracking animals and

reading the signs of their passing . . .

Mapping landscapes . . .

Field arts are not gained overnight, not through instant-knowledge from technology . . . The clip below is from a website aimed at young people interested in conservation and fieldwork careers; it suggests apps that can turn you into a “wilderness expert” and also that you find someone to be your mentor. The latter is a good idea, but really the only thing that will gain you field arts and science skills is to get out and practice them. A lot, and for years. Taking classes and studying. A mentor is valuable, but they can’t mind-meld everything they know to a newbie . . . it took them years to learn, and it should take us as well.

Field arts can only be attained the truly best and yes, old-fashioned way: through daily practice, contemplative, honest study . . . on your own.

Field arts are therefore a direct link to science and knowledge and understanding and ultimately, appreciation and conservation.

I’m excited to share my love of field arts with you, and embark on journeys to explore the wild.