Nancy Glassman, Buzzing, watercolor on paper, 16 x 12 in., 2011.
I garden the way I paint: I am an observer. A friend remarked that in my paintings, “everyone has a voice.” Just so, if a plant makes an appearance on the scene, I want to see what it has to offer. In the garden, selections have to be made, as in painting. But often the volunteers contribute not only with their own kind of beauty, but in other ways as well. The goldenrod and black-eyed Susan just showed up. Well, what could I do? They looked terrific and their kind were around here before me. The sun lit their leaves, cast shadows, and called me to action. Their architecture provided structure and established spaces. As I painted, the buzzing of several varieties of native bees accompanied me, attesting to another of its donations, and adding to the story.
Hence the title, Buzzing.
Nancy Glassman, Unruly Garden, oil on panel, 19 x 11 in., 2022.
Chipmunk tunnels undermined the rock walls that my husband built to contain this north-facing flower bed. The hillock that the walls more or less contain, began with the clay hardpan that he dug up to make the cellar hole, topped with whatever better soil we managed to cart over to it. It is situated in a challenging position for most plants, with shade from the house in the morning and full sun in the afternoon. Here on the northside of our town’s tallest mountain, it faces erratic swings of temperature, and the droughts of our recent years, exposed to the ever more scouring winds. As a young artist, I did not have a lot of discretionary money for plants, so most of the perennials came from trades with and gifts from other gardeners. I threw in several ground covers. Anything that mingled and survived was in the right place. And I planted or allowed wild flowers to enter the fray. My beloved New England asters pose for me every year. Sometimes birds drop seeds. I am always happy to see mullein plants. But my husband and I battle with yearly wild spurge takeovers, since my earliest gardening days, when I planted some I dug out of roadside gravel, thinking it was so beautiful. (Watch out for that sap!) By chance, discovery and predilection, I happened upon a gardening method that fits in somewhat with wildlife. The shifts and changes of plant colors and patterns that occur year by year have given me extra charge to keep painting this garden. I just wish we still had more of the butterflies, wild bees, dragonflies, salamanders, frogs, and song birds. And more reliable rains. And fewer hot, muggy days. At least I can try to garden in a way that doesn’t get in the way of their thriving.
Nancy Glassman, Poppies and Garlic, watercolor on paper, 22 x 15 in., c. 2009.
A friend gave me some poppy seeds, so the next summer, I planted some here and there around the vegetables in my garden. They have re-seeded and popped out of their petal casings every summer since, by now mostly reverting to singles. They are all exuberant. I have always allowed some of the garlic scapes to persist. Who can resist them? I do love seeing, growing, and eating the vegetables, but I have always allowed room for cultivated and wild flowers, too. The evening primrose turned out to be a trap plant for invasive Japanese beetles. I have found nothing to deter the porcupines. They can climb right up and over the posts that hold up the deer fencing, evading the electric fence. I’m afraid I like the look of my vegetable beds as much as I like harvesting the food. My paintings are about the Life Force, as it shows itself in light’s reveal of colors, the patterns and rhythms of plants and shadows, the stretch, and the reach for the sun. That grey cloud blew by at just the right time. It’s all there in the gardens. Painting them sustains me as much as does the food they produce.