Grasses not immediately catch your eye
Grasses may not immediately catch your eye when you enter a garden or a meadow. For, amidst the splendour of nature’s beautiful, colourful flowers, one often overlooks the beauty of those plants that, in the strictest sense of the word, we tend to call ‘grass’.
Perhaps this is also because it grows so abundantly and can be found everywhere.
Every meadow is a stage for the wonders of our creation, and so grass, for example, deserves just as much attention as a flower that initially catches our eye.
Perhaps grass would attract more attention if its reproduction required more care and effort; but isn’t it good that it grows everywhere without our tending? Even under the most adverse conditions, such as on the motorway between the lanes.
I wonder how barren our environment would be without grasses, which, moreover, are of great benefit to many animals and their diet? Moreover, green is an extremely pleasing colour to the eye. It is only through green that something colourful can be shown to its full advantage in all its splendour. It is fascinating how nature has organised itself and how everything works together. For me, it is a wonderfully sacred place. A place where I can move about freely and where my body and soul can recover in no time at all. For me, there is hardly anything more beautiful than going for a walk with our dog in the morning and watching the grass swaying in the wind along a green verge. It is a deeply spiritual experience, during which I often find myself brimming with creativity and new ideas springing to mind.
I apply the principle of emptiness in my art and focus all my attention on an object, thereby giving it the whole space it needs to unfold fully. Plants or objects that I do not seek out, but which simply come my way during my contemplative walks in nature. It is not uncommon for grasses to catch my eye – perhaps because, in my subconscious, these little marvels hold such a great fascination.
This gives rise to ‘light drawings’ that radiate tranquillity and feel like a poem to which one returns time and again. It is a matter of reading between the lines, for it is precisely what one does not see or read that stimulates us and transports us into a state of contemplative tranquillity.