Creative Bloom | Volume 6: Stories from Artists

✨ Introducing Creative Bloom—our new series celebrating emerging artists where creativity and soulful expression come together. 🌱 Each week, we’ll shine a light on a talented artist and their inspiring work.

To simply be of the trees, leaves, webs and bees.

There is a stillness in the air, relaxed and unfaltering as the early morning wind breezes against my cheek sending tremors up my spine against the chill. In the eerie cadence of the early autumn morning, darkness slowly creeps back into its harbingering pits as dawn slowly rises. The sun softly halos from behind the trees, glowing like an ethereal angel, as a mist clouds over the forest, its vapor like serpentine coils shrouding around the trees. Amidst the conflict of light and the dark, the earth feels mysterious and forbidden, alluring to the season’s esoteric beauty, the radiance of falling death.

Leaves in red, yellow, orange, gold and copper bring a vibrancy to the forest, the trees appearing to be adorned with crowns of spectacular opulence against the rising sun beneath its rays of ascension. Birdsong rings in joyous farewells before their migration, busy chatter of squirls gives a sense of urgency in preparation of hibernation, even the soft crunching of leaves gives to the feeling of unburdening change. The tangy wet scent of earth and decay gives us the sense that change is upon us, that the forest is readying itself for its winter slumber, and yet it does not be downcast in bliss, instead life still thrives. It is a beautiful time of year to witness change. In death and rebirth, the never-ending cycle of transmutation and growth, one is never expected to return the same, we are intended to flourish.  

Keeping a steady pace along the trail, enjoying the cool morning autumn breeze, listening to the soft crunching of leaves beneath my boots, I finally found what I came searching for. Anchored near perfectly between two bramble bushes resides a pristine web. Unbeknown as to why this immaculate web was left abandoned from its silk spindling occupant, I send gratitude for this find as I busy myself collecting the persevering supplies from my hiking pack. As I prep the black canvas and white non-toxic spray paint, I take a moment to admire the web’s craftsmanship.

The top corners of the web are sloped downwards, curving away from the stabilizing branches, causing their structure to bend slightly. However, there is notable delicacy with the silk spun strands as the web sways tenderly in the wind, both appearing spectral in both weightlessness and durability. Woven in symmetrical arches, spiraling in a descending pattern all the way to the middle, I am awestruck but how perfectly preserved the web is as it glistens in the early morning dew, fracturing light from the sun. Moisture beads along the silky strands, sparkling like befitted crystals, and had it not been for this affixation I might have missed the web completely.

Wind grazes through the brush, and the web sways among the brambles, fearing I might miss the spectrum of opportunity, I earnestly yet carefully spray the canister towards the web. Immediately, the watery dew is absorbed in the paint, as the web refracts from glistening pillars of light into pillarize white capsules. Then immersing myself in the brush, I carefully position the canvas beneath the web before scoping onto the black mat. I hold my breath as I work cautiously transferring the web, sometimes in transfer, the web strands can tug and pull, depleting the web of its shape and structure. Luckily, I was able to make the transfer seamlessly. Letting out a shaky breath, I admire the eloquently woven specimen as I spray a protective sealant over the freshly webbed canvas.

As I make my way back to the path, cradling the web canvas protectively in hand, nearby branches slash against my jacket, that’s when I notice that the reaming purple thistle flowers are covered in dozens of bees. I nearly stagger backwards as I make a stunned retreat, completely unaware that I had been surrounded by bees this entire time. Not trying to act too alarmed and run the risk of damaging the canvas, I carefully step away until I reach my pack. However, something unsettled in my mind, curious, I take a second track back to the bee riddle thistles once the canvas has been safely stored away. I preen over the brush slowly for a better inspection of the bees when I notice that all dozens of them remain perfectly still. Unmoving and resting like art stonework top of the thistle spuds, the bees are completely motionless, and dare say, even looks like they were recently all dead.

Shocked at this sudden discovery, I lean closer, like how I observed the web, carefully not to disturb as I watch the bee, frozen in time. I drag the closest branch to inspect the bee more closely, at first the bee remained inanimate but then finally I see its tiny fuzzy legs shuffle lethargically readjusting its position on the floral bedding. Completely unbothered and unafflicted by my presence, the bee continues its slumber, its cute fury black and yellow body adorably cozied against the thistle as if saying, “Just five more minutes, beezzzee.”

Releasing the branch slowly, I look towards the other bees, seeing that they are also moving coyishly under the thralls of sudden sleep. The bees were not all in fact dead but resting.

In the final thralls of summer, the bees were probably still busy collecting their reserves for winter, and in the sudden cold snap of the coming of fall, those remaining bees doing their last-minute pollinating were caught in the gap. To conserve energy in hot or cold conditions, bees will rest to withstand the changes until they are able to retreat to the hive. Clever and resourceful, and an adapt reminder that we all need moments of rest, so simply just be. Thinking back to the spider who had woven such a marvelous web, I wonder if it too was time away to rest, persevering itself before the long winter sleep.

As I venture back through the rose and coppery clad forest, the sun like a giant flaring beacon above the forest canopy, I reflect on the beauty of the autumn season. Not just for the vibrancy of color, cozy bonfire’s, pumpkin spice, hayrides, apple cider, plaid sweaters, or knee-high boots trudging through the fallen leaves on cool brisk mornings, I reflect on the seasonal tranquil beauty, when everything begins to slow down. During autumn there is a sense of softness unfolding into the rhythm of closed refinement. Closeness and comfort we all slow down as we ready ourselves for change.

As the world hollows and darkens, preparing for winter, we are reminded by the earth’s slow decay that things must come to close before it can regrow a new. In this time of rest, we learn to be gentler, more forgiving and nurturing to the grace within ourselves. Reminds me of the Finnish word, Oleilu; a calm unhurried state of simply being, not about doing, achieving or planning but the quiet act of existing in the moment.

Autumn is about change. Just like the leaves, what has sparked has not faded, just transmuting as a form of reflection toward the outward changes of internal growth. There is a bud, it expands, flourishes and grows, then once the cycle is complete, and that knowledge consumed, it breaks down and rebuilds, carrying the over wisdom attained into the next cycle of growth. Once comfortably detached, be like the leaves, let go. Fall, tumble, flow, do so needed until you reach that time of rest and enjoy the quite act of existing in the moment, to just simply be before we are ready to bloom again. Come the next phase of growth you have become brighter, stronger, wiser, and bolder, all because we learned to let go.

Walking beneath the arch of trees leading out of the forest, I can't help but think in such blissful contentment, as the crisp autumn breeze whips against my face. I think back to the web, perverse on canvas in my backpack, the dozens of slumbering bees, reminding me of the importance of slowing down to regard such beauty. For how beautiful it is, like the sleeping bees, fallen leaves, and silky webs dangling abandoned in the tree, to just simply be.