Impressions: The Freedom to Choose

Recently, my daughter Alexandra and I took a botanical printing class taught by Hannah Watson through Wild Craft Studio School in Portland, Oregon. Twelve of us gathered on a rainy day at Luscher Farms to co-create with the plants. We learned Tataki-zomé  (叩き染め), a Japanese technique where you hammer fresh flowers and leaves onto a piece of fabric until the pigment and shape transfers. Some plants are better at leaving an impression. Some colors transfer as you’d expect and some surprise you like the pink Cosmo who turned a dark purple.  At the end of the workshop I held up my tea towel and thought, here is an impression of the bounty, color, and fragrance of summer. But it’s so much more. It’s also a memory of this unforgettably perfect day with Alexandra, a sense of deep gratitude for my son Nick who gifted this class to us, and the experience and generosity that Hannah generously shared with us. All things considered, with the tumultuous world in the background, I felt joy!  I’ve been thinking about lasting impressions and what we choose to remember about someone. That which endures might have more to do with things beyond the mundane, actual experiences that took us to the depths of our beings as in the encounter of love, excitement, terror, and grief. Naturally, relationships are complicated and can be unpredictable, leaving a mark more akin to a scar, but maybe we can superimpose something over it.   The beautiful thing is, we can choose the memory we keep about a person or a place. There is no rule that says you must organize your memories like this or that. Consider this, you decide how you want to remember someone to best honor their most brilliant and colorful impression, be it their playfulness, spontaneity, wit, or wisdom. Same goes for places. If you want to remember the mountains with an inch of snow on them or the beach with zero microplastics, then do it. On our property, the Vine maple is gorgeous in spring, but her red, orange, and yellow autumn leaves are the image I hold in my mind’s eye.   What I’m proposing is that we give ourselves permission to cherish that which transfers upon our hearts.   This may sound ironic, but Tataki-zomé botanical printing is a teaching on impermanence while it also captures a moment in time that you touch with your hands. Today, I  collected clippings from plants on the property that I’ve planted since moving here: calendula, poppy, red clover, phacelia, nasturtium, and marigolds. And then I honored some natives that have been here for a years: spruce, fir, cedar, lady fern, wood sorrel, stinging nettle, and hedge nettle.  

I set to work arranging the clippings then I hammered out the chlorophyll, carotenoids, and anthocyanins, after which I gently pulled off the spent plant with tweezers. The intoxicating essences released from each plant filled the air and reminded me of the diverse richness of this place. Part ceremonial and part documentary, I lost myself in the making and the feeling of freedom it invited. And yet, it’s also just a tea towel that I will dry my hands on. I’m not advocating that we cherish objects more than people or places, rather, I’m suggesting that we cherish experiences that etch the memory that best celebrates our beloved, be they person, more-than-human, or place.