Dune Sunflower - Why Draw

 Dune sunflower, Helianthus debilis, sometimes can be a victim of its own success. It's showy, tough, and flowers enthusiastically year round in frost free areas. A goodly mound of it, with its bright yellow-green leaves, and undiluted yellow ray flowers ringing purple-brown disk florets, brightens up the garden considerably. It wants no pampering. All it asks is space - and there's the rub. 

Space is an increasingly rare commodity in contemporary home sites around here. Lots generally are small, and the houses are built all the way to the 7.5' setback on the sides.( Higher floors sometimes are built all the way out to the property line, curiously reminiscent of medieval street scenes of tall buildings towering over dark, narrow passages). 

The plant is readily available, and some people, municipalities and road authorities have planted it to their chagrin. This is a plant that survives on the pure, sugar sand of Florida's beaches, buffeted by salty coastal winds, and subject to extreme drought while in full sunshine. The average yard, even unfertilized and unirrigated, can be an Eden in comparison, and granted this largesse, the plant takes off.

It doesn't grow as fast as kudzu, but over a period of months a healthy plant will overrun anything in its path, and certainly will outgrow a narrow median strip. Judicious pruning will keep it pretty for a long time. It has to be pruned along the edges, not from the middle, or center. Pruning gets trickier once the  plant has begun to mound over itself. Its long, creeping branches intertwine, so it's pretty impossible to see what belongs to what.

As the plant tumbles over itself, the higher leaves and stems shade out lower levels. A luxuriant-looking mound, may well be completely bare in the middle, with just a veneer of new growth over a scaffolding of aging, woody, leafless stems. It looks atrocious if it is hedged, which is about all most "mow-and go" yard crews know how to do.

Badly "Pruned" Dune Sunflower

This mounding habit makes it particularly attractive in large pots, from which its flowering branches can cascade around it. Eventually the bottom parts of the stem in the pots get woody and bare, which means it's time to cut back hard or pot up another plant. Dune sunflowers transplant easily if they aren't too big. They also root readily and self-sow vigorously if there isn't too much competition. (I wrote more about the dune sunflower in my blog post of Feb. 21, 2021, "January - Not the Greatest New Year.")

All From One Plant, One Pot

 The plant's energetic, uppreaching and semi-vining  habit make it an ideal subject for line drawings. I like drawing better than painting generally. Yellow is a particularly vexing hue for me, because it is so easy to "dirty" it with shading, which destroys its luminance unless you get lucky.

 1-Line Gesture Drawing; Color Study
(Yellow Is Too Light and Greenish)

Part of the definition of line, as it applies to art, is"...an identifiable path created by a point moving in space."("The Elements of Art," J. Paul Getty Museum website: www.getty.edu/for_teachers/building...lessons).

I love this definition because it also seems to denote the action of a growing plant. Attempting to follow that delightful dance of a plant's characteristic energy never fails to engage me.

Dune Sunflower, Pencil Sketch

Drawing is often frustrating and boring, and it requires hours of practice. But succeeding in capturing  movement in the sinuous curve of a stem, or the baroque undulations in a leaf's edge, be it just for an inch, makes all the failed attempts fade into insignificance. I'll never stop trying - and failing -  to get there.

Of course, a line drawing cannot capture the entire being of a plant - in this case, the sandpapery  texture of its leaves, the range of greens and yellows, its volume en masse, even its "non-fragrant" odor. That is a problem of all 2-dimensional media - it can't accomplish everything in one go. But artists and writers of all abilities attempt to capture and communicate something of the innate "truth" of an object or landscape. 

Texture- Dune Sunflower

I looked for answers on "why we draw" on the web, and all I came up with was articles on chemistry -  substances produced by the brain that make us feel pleasure and/or reward. But nothing on why one person is compelled to take pencil to paper while another is driven to put in hours learning to dance, make something, design a building, or throw a ball through a net. Apparently the chemicals are the same, and when you get down to it, they really don't tell us much. And why do some of us want to communicate so badly? It's more than what my husband calls, "teaching your grandmother to suck eggs." It's more like a toddler desperately wanting others to appreciate the wonderfulness of his latest toy. Drawing plants, for me, has something to do with joy, with sharing, with gratitude. But basically, I really can't say.

Twisted-Banded Airplant

 The twisted-banded airplants (Tillandsia flexuosa Sw.) in our yard bloomed most of the summer, and are producing seeds now. This "airplant" is neither rare nor common in Florida, though I suspect loss of habitat is making in more infrequent. It ranges as far north as central Florida, and southward through the Caribbean, parts of Mexico and Central America, Columbia, Venezuela, and the Guianas. It also is a plant of the lowlands, staying from sea level to about 400 meters in elevation. It is quite salt tolerant, thriving in our yard only a few bits  of barrier islands away from the Gulf of Mexico. Some of the plants mounted on small trees got blown 90 -180 degrees off their axes during Hurricane Irma in 2017, but they gradually grew back toward the light. 

Tillandsia flexuosa and pup

The typical plant could be described as "loosely wrapped," with around 10 -15 stiff, leathery leaves arranged in a loose spiral. After the plant has produced seeds it eventually falls apart. The size and appearance of Tillandsia flexuosa vary dramatically, depending on where the plants are growing. The specimens growing in the harsh scrub of the Naples Preserve or Rookery Bay's upland areas are gray/silver, sometimes with tinges of crimson, with darker gray horizontal bands. 

Young T. flexuosa in Naples Preserve

Those living in more shade are progressively a greener gray/almost white, with darker green horizontal bands. The leaves may recurve rather dramatically or remain more upright. I have observed the greatest degree of recurving in plants in fairly deep shade, and suspect it is the plant's way of seeking more light. The plant produces pups, and over time will form a small colony. Given the behavior of the plants in our yard, it germinates fairly easily as well.

T. flexuosa seedlings on Fiddlewood

Do you see the anole?

The inflorescence, which can grow up to a meter tall, is branched, with flowers on alternate sides of the branches. Each branch ends in a pair of bracts, one  normal-sized and one much smaller and sterile.  The bracts and flowers grow at fairly wide angles to the branches - often near 90 degrees, which gives a slightly zig-zag appearance. I imagine that this, and the slight curvature of the areas between the bracts gives the branch greater strength and stability, since the process of flowering and seed production is fairly long. 

Inflorescence

The flowers are a deep, warm pink, and open over a long period, so the plant produces points of intense color, rather than a large display. Once the seeds have dispersed the insides of the bracts reveal themselves to be a deep, rich maroon, which also is attractive. A flower arranger probably would love the dried inflorescences. 

A non-local variety of the plant is viviparous, meaning that the seed germinates in the fruit before the fruit is detached. The mangrove "pencil" is a good example of vivipary. I have noticed seedlings on the dried branches of the inflorescence, and assumed that they had fallen and been trapped by residual fibers, but obviously I need to observe my plants much more closely next year.  The photo below shows somewhat out-of-focus green seedlings on the right of the inflorescence.

 

My first plants came from a legal rescue in the Panther Reserve, just north of the Fakahatchee Slough. Several large trees had been felled to make room for a greenhouse for native orchids, and I and fellow members of a botanical identification course visiting for the day were welcomed to harvest the epiphytes. (The trees were going to the shredder). Since then, I've become an active parking-lot stalker, especially where there are old live oak trees. Usually the fallen epiphytes are the ubiquitous ball moss (T. recurvata L) and wisps of Spanish moss(T. usneoides L), but I've found a fair number of the twisted-banded airplants as well. I haven't found that many lately, so maybe the supply has been exhausted.

I occasionally find pot-belly airplants (T. paucifolia Baker)  and Southern needleleaf (T. setaceae Sw) on or under declining shrubs. I don't take any from a healthy host, but if the shrub is definitely headed for the shredder, I will break off dead branchlets and the airplants. I stopped picking once, because I felt greedy, only to notice the next week that all the plants had been uprooted and replaced, so I won't have as many scruples now when it comes to harvesting from dying shrubs in parking lots. 

Our plants thrive in the shade and branches  of a Fiddlewood. It never has flourished, and I fear it eventually will die, but in the meantime it provides a perfect habitat for the Tillandsias and other epiphytes.

For more on Spanish Moss, see my post on April 12, 2019, "Southern Gothic - Spanish Moss."

See also "Parking Lot Potbelly." Feb. 27, 2019.

Great Sketching Book for Children

 I wrote the following review of Jean Mackay's The Nature Explorer's Sketchbook: For the Art of Your Discoveries, for a local weekly. It never was published, so I'm running it here.

Front Cover

Want to introduce children to the natural world, or just get them away from their digital toys? Jean Mackay’s The Nature Explorer’s Sketchbook is a great start. The book combines instruction with an enthusiastic invitation to get involved with nature. Artist-author Mackay writes on the very first page, “The world is a Big and fascinating place. Let’s go out and explore it.”

 

The firsts 25 pages of the book introduce the reader to nature journaling, with plenty of specific sketching ideas along with very basic drawing and painting instructions.

 

With roughly 55 blank pages following, the book is designed for immediate action, making it easy to jump from reading to doing. Some of the blank pages are subdivided into smaller squares and rectangles - a subtle way of introducing children to page design. The stretch of blank pages is broken up with “Try This” ideas, which keeps interest and enthusiasm from flagging.

 

From the initial “This Book Belongs To “___” to the last page, the book actually becomes the child’s work as much as the author’s. In fact, Mackay stresses, “You make your own rules - it's your book."  As for feeling discouraged, her advice is practical, “If you draw something you don’t like, just turn the page and try again.” In this way Mackay motivates the reader to keep going, and when it is finished the child will have a real sense of accomplishment along with a personal record of discoveries and experiences.

Artwork By Jean Maccay

Jean Mackay incorporates language with her own sketches, and writing is as important as drawing in this book. Combining writing with drawing helps establish a deep connection between the observer and world being observed.  She writes, “The more you sketch the more you will see.” That is true of writing as well. 

 

She doesn’t stop with generalities, but gives specific tips like noting sensations, the weather and how the sketcher feels. One exercise is to fill a space entirely of words written large or small, decorated or not, to describe the sense of a place. 

 

She also encourages the reader to write down questions about what is being sketched, looking up information later, and adding answers. Some questions about a plant, for example, could be whether it is edible, what the various parts are called, why it is growing where it is, and so forth.

 

In content and organization this childrens’ book does not differ materially from similar books for adults. The difference lies in the amount of detail about techniques and materials.  While just a little more information on materials and techniques might have been welcome here, the author clearly wants to get children involved and excited immediately. In view of this goal, less is likely better. 

 

Mackay mentions that a heavier paper than what is in the book would be better for watercolor. I tried a small, wet sketch. While the paper buckled, it didn’t start to disintegrate or tear, and it dried fairly flat. As long as the user doesn’t go hog wild with water or scrubbing, the paper in the book should be fine for starters. 

 

The current emphasis on the STEM curriculum – science, technology, engineering and mathematics – raises the question of whether the creative arts will be neglected or ignored in the education of young people. A book like The Nature Explorer’s Sketchbook shows how language and art can go hand-in glove with these categories.  The subtitle, For the Art of Your Discoveries, says it all. 

 

The book is enlivened with Mackay’s delightfully fresh and energetic sketches, mostly done in watercolor. While this kind of seemingly loose and spontaneous style actually takes years to perfect, it is not intimidating, and perfectly suited to her topic and audience. She does not talk down to her audience, and constantly seeks to encourage and inspire.

Back Cover

Older teenagers might find this book too juvenile, but curiously enough, it probably would appeal to busy grownups for the same reasons it would please children. If you buy this book for your offspring, you may end up wishing you had a copy for yourself. The book would be a wonderful resource for teachers, day camps, and whole-family activities.  

 

The book is published by Tumblehome Press, a non-profit childrens’ book publishing company that aims “to inspire a love of science through the power of story.”

 

It is a sturdy paperback, 10 x 7 inches large, and has good –quality binding, that should withstand a good deal of abuse. Considering the cost of books and decent drawing paper, this little manual is very reasonable at $16.99. It’s release date was Nov. 1, 2020. It is perfect for summer vacation activities and gifts.

Jean Maccay has a great blog, "Drawn In." Check it out.

The Non-Doing Pear

My mother made the best pear preserves I've ever tasted. They were so rich and syrupy smooth you'd swear they had butter in them. As my University of Florida botany professor used to say (He was a mushroom specialist, and was talking about the culinary delights of some Florida fungi), "you'd think you'd died and gone to heaven" after eating them.

They were wonderful on a hot biscuit, but sometimes we just ate them out of the jar. And while they were deliciously sweet, they had just enough balance, without being tart, so you didn't feel like you needed to run for the toothbrush after indulging.

The fruits were hard and gritty, and she cooked them just soft enough, but never mushy. Part of the appeal of my mother's preserves was their wonderful brown color. The preserves were a maple-syrup, honey-brown, not the anemic white things I see on internet recipes. But all it was was sugar, water, pears and spices, cooked just right. I never had pears, and foolishly, never asked for her recipe.

I don't think the pears she used were much good for eating out of hand. Maybe she deliberately picked them early, or it wasn't the best variety for my parents' north Florida home, or just a manifestation of the tree's generally unsatisfactory nature. (More on that later).

I've often wondered if they were the same kind of pears that grew on my grandmother's farm in South Carolina. When I was little, taking the cows to and from the barn and pasture was a special treat. My Aunt Iola had us children "leading" Red, who not only was the dominant cow and knew perfectly well how to get where she was going, but also very affable and docile. My aunt really had to watch Jersey, a mean cow who would jump the fence into the cornfield at any opportunity.

Back to the pears. One of the delays in the daily journeys was caused by old pear trees. Their hard, inedible fruits littered the ground, and the cows scarfed down as many as they could before my aunt got impatient and hurried them along. They probably made good preserves if you got to them before the cows, but I was too young to wonder. Now that I'd like to ask there's nobody left to answer.

I am not sure if the pear tree my parents planted in north Florida every truly flourished. My parents said that they stood under it one winter debating whether to cut it down because it never "did" anything. Being unhurried folk, and not unkind, they granted it one more year, whereupon it bloomed and fruited gloriously, like it never had done before, and the whole family rejoiced over the resulting bounty of pear preserves.

Thereafter they made a ritual of standing under said tree every winter, threatening it gently or not so gently, with the prospect of ending it all. And from then on, as the story goes, the tree was a faithful producer in spite of its sorry appearance.

My mother has been dead for 4 years now, and my father even longer, but the pear tree remains - just barely. It's not so much clinging to life as gradually letting go. We survivors go back as often as we can, but there's nobody to give it a good scare, and worse, nobody to use whatever harvest there might be. So the non-doing pear tree persists -  a weathered sentinel from the golden-brown sweetness of a past time.
.....................................

I clipped this branchlet on a visit, but colored it after I returned to south Florida. I don't know whether the hard brown spheres were immature fruits or shriveled remnants. The leaves were bright green when I picked it, but turned their "fall" colors after a few days. Even though the sketch wouldn't be quite biologically accurate, I couldn't resist trying to capture these vibrant hues.