I think we all secretly love seeing how other people live; how they create their own unique sense of “home” and all the better if that person happens to be an artist or designer. Welcome to the first of an ongoing series on the home gardens of creatives, a peek into the outdoor spaces that designers have created for their own pleasure and relaxation. In this installment, I’m exploring the home of Sarah Simon, artist, author, teacher and the creative force behind The Mint Gardener. Gathering inspiration from her ever-evolving urban garden, Sarah draws and paints beautiful botanicals in a fresh, lush style. Her new book, Modern Watercolor Botanicals, offers instruction on watercolor technique to help even the novice paint their own inspired botanic scenes. As beautiful as it is practical, you should definitely check it out (bonus, a few of my photos are featured in the book as well!)
Hidden behind a tall wooden fence, with just of hint of the splendor inside peeking over the top, lies Sarah’s home garden. The garden has been an evolution and what started out small and as a way to grow her own food, now flows through the property and includes a small glasshouse and a chicken coop. Brilliant blooms are interspered amoung the edibles and the entire garden feels warm and homey. I so enjoyed touring the space with Sarah and her two adorable daughters; here’s more about the garden, in her own inspiring words.
Small Beginnings
Our garden started in 2012, when we first moved into our home. One of my favorite places to connect with my family and friends is in our garden. We once lived in a 600-square-foot apartment, every table, shelf, and windowsill occupied by plants. We now live in a home on a quarter-acre in the heart of the city. Over the years, we have transformed every inch of our outdoor space into a thriving jungle of an urban garden. The only thing planted in the yard when we arrived was the beautiful Tulip Magnolia tree, which played front and center in our plans. We had an open canvas of good dirt, and so many dreams!
Our green space has become a place where each of us finds rest and feeds a creative urge. When the day is through and we come inside, the leaves and bits of dirt that fall from my daughters’ hair at bath time are the mark of a day well spent. And it’s not so different for me: hands full of earth, heart full of love.
On Inspitation
The garden is a renewable source of inspiration. It is physically refreshing, emotionally grounding, and spiritually encouraging. When the walls of the house or the pace of the city get to be too confining, I can sit outside, soak in the sunshine, listen to the bees hum, and watch my daughters run barefoot and collect fallen flower petals. I breathe in deeply of dark earth and feel like I’ve just inhaled my weeks’ worth of vitamins.
There is so much marvelous detail happening on each little plant. I love observing them and studying their movement and then trying to translate them to paper: the shape of the olive tree’s leaves or the beautiful mess of the sage and lavender branches all entangled with one another. Sometimes I bring my sketch pad outside and draw the shapes I see with my daughters; other times these images wait in my mind and come out of my paintbrush during the girls’ naptime. Every time I dig in the earth, I feel like the dirt sets my mind buzzing with thoughts and ideas.
“I love giving things room to breathe. So I create space in the garden – to sit, to sunbathe, to soak. I realize I do this in my art too. I want my viewers to take what they see in front of them as a rhythm for their eyes, to slowly absorb and feel the peace we love to plant.”
A Place for the Entire Family
Each member of our little tribe has a place and a role in our garden. My husband loves to grow things to eat—kale, corn, collard greens, snap peas, and beets—and he loves to roll up his sleeves and shift dirt, paint the chicken coop, turn the compost pile, and pull weeds; it’s how he relaxes and recharges after long days at work. I love to find heirloom flowers to fill our garden beds: sunflowers, roses, peonies, bearded irises, lilies, and dahlias. Our two small daughters go to the garden in search of snacks and they help to select what to plant, with seasonal seed catalogs as their bedtime stories of choice. For all of us, the garden is a source of wonder; a place where our imaginations can run wild. We see magical things emerge from the ground that started as the tiniest seeds, then grow, thrive, and begin the cyclical process all
over again.
Growing Hope
I just planted five Café au Lait Dahlia tubers yesterday; I love how ugly they are when you bury them in the dirt. If you haven’t seen a dahlia tuber, just imagine an extra knobby brown potato, with brown wart-like knots near the top, which are called the tuber’s “eyes.” It’s hard to believe the exquisite future that’s hidden inside them, but it’s a metaphor that never fails to inspire me. Every time you plant a tuber, or a seed, you are seeing Hope in its purest form. There is so much potential in these utilitarian compact beings, and when you tuck them into their dark beds, the magic starts to happen. The mystery of the deep soil, sun, and rain activates the explosive power within those small unassuming bodies – tiny green shoots begin to surface, leaves stretch and grow. Every time I see a new leaf or blossom, I marvel at the journey that has all taken place underground, beyond our comprehension.
Garden as Teacher
Nothing is wasted or without meaning in the garden.
After the seed has done its work, the beautiful flowers—the crowning glory of any plant—follow the sun and receive our praise. And yet they fade so quickly! We have poppies blooming right now, and one tiny bud will unfurl in the early dawn, wrinkled and trembling, shine and dance for a day, and then lose all her petals as the dusk approaches. Just one day of glory, but the pollen she offered to the bees for her day in the sun, and the seeds she will shed from her drying body—those gifts echo and ensure her return, in a new form, next spring.
The cyclical process of every season, the hidden things waiting patiently to bloom, life and death being a necessary part of growth and expansion—those lessons continue to inspire me every time I get my hands in the dirt.
