Ikebana is one of many practices that cause me to look differently at my world. I stroll about our garden with fresh eyes, now that I’ve learned a few new techniques for manipulating plant materials. I see containers in my home as shapes, colors, forms, and think of how they would look as part of an arrangement.
For a couple of hours, I forget the studio and putter.
Every season is celebrated with a form of Ikebana. The fall might inspire a harvest arrangement for the kitchen. The winter, bare branches or winter berries, or maybe evergreen boughs. Spring is a temptation to excess, and summer’s a lazy perusal, maybe a hiatus here in the south.
I look at my home in a fresh way after I’ve made an arrangement and look for a place to appreciate it.
Finally, there’s a magic when I return to the studio: fresh eyes to reconsider my work, colors, brushstrokes, surfaces, just as I did when casting my eyes around the house for Ikebana materials. It’s all connected.
For a couple of hours, I forget the studio and putter.
Every season is celebrated with a form of Ikebana. The fall might inspire a harvest arrangement for the kitchen. The winter, bare branches or winter berries, or maybe evergreen boughs. Spring is a temptation to excess, and summer’s a lazy perusal, maybe a hiatus here in the south.
I look at my home in a fresh way after I’ve made an arrangement and look for a place to appreciate it.
Finally, there’s a magic when I return to the studio: fresh eyes to reconsider my work, colors, brushstrokes, surfaces, just as I did when casting my eyes around the house for Ikebana materials. It’s all connected.
