Rooted in paint...
- amycutebutstupid
- Feb 11
- 3 min read
I seem to have developed… let’s call it… a thing about trees. It’s not new, exactly — I’ve always loved them — but lately it’s turned into a full-blown obsession with painting forests, roots, branches, and all that earthy mystery.
I think my love of art started when I was really small. I always thought artists were these magical beings who could turn nothing into beauty. I remember being maybe five or six finding some wax pastels and drawing pictures. Of course, I had to show my dad — “See how amazing I am, too!” He (of course) thought so… but then he also showed me how to blend colours to make my rainbow shine. That was Dad — always encouraging, always teaching. Although Mom never thought of herself as artistic, she was the one who quietly made room for all that creating to happen (and is still my biggest fan).
I’d always wanted to be a painter… but, you know, life. So instead, I picked up a camera. And forty-something years later, it’s pretty much become an extension of me. I started in film (because yes, I’m that old), and I still carry a bit of that sanctimonious-film-snob attitude about process. Photography taught me to see light, texture, and the soul of a subject — which, funny enough, isn’t all that different from painting trees.
But then… the trees. Somewhere along the way, I became completely, hopelessly absorbed by them. I listened to this book about how trees communicate — how they share nutrients, warn each other, even take care of their old and young — and that idea just rooted itself in my brain (pun definitely intended).
Now I’m in the forest most days, feeling their quiet hum, paying my respects to the lungs of the Earth, and soaking up their calm. Yeah, I know… sounds woo-woo. But it’s true. There’s something about the light filtering through the canopy, the stillness between branches, the rhythm of bark and shadow that feeds every bit of creativity I’ve got.
And something shifted. I finally found a way to paint what I feel out there — not literal trees, but my impression of them. The movement, the shimmer, the quiet conversations they seem to have when we’re not paying attention. I’ve stumbled into a painting style that feels honest — textured layers, subtle colour, and a little mystery.
Each piece in this forest painting series has a woman’s name because, to me, these trees are mothers and sisters — grounded, wise, generous… and occasionally a bit cranky. Which, honestly, just makes me love them more.
Every brushstroke feels like part of the conversation I’ve been having with the forest for years now.
And when I finally step back from the easel — paint in my hair, forest still in my head — there’s usually one enthusiatic, furry reminder that it’s time to step away. Buddy waits, and not patiently, for his walk. So we go — back into the trees.
Full circle.
My cup is full.
“I can approach a tree with joy and pleasure, but I approach a man with caution. When man has attained the trustworthiness of a tree, he may be allowed its freedom.”
— J.D. Robbins, naturalist
This quote comes from the short NFB vignette Canada Vignettes: Trees — and it’s stayed with me ever since I first saw it back in 1978. When I started thinking about this blog, I went looking for it again… and it still rings just as true.
Buddy still believes all trails lead to treats… and he’s not wrong. Thanks for walking with us — see you next time among the trees. 🌲
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