Wild Greens

My nephew Anthony, who is nine years old, is an artist of first-rate ability. He excels at drawing maps in particular, capturing the craggy coastlines of islands and arbitrary boundary lines of geopolitical states—some maps real, others imagined. He also has a surprisingly keen eye for comedic timing in animation, which never fails to crack me up.

The other day we were sitting at the kitchen table, coming up with activities to pass the slow summer day. “How is Wild Greens?” he asked, picking up a marker and a piece of paper. “Oh it’s great,” I replied. “Do you want to draw something for us?” “Yes!” he exclaimed, and then asked if he could see our logo. I explained that we change it every month. I pulled up the folder of all of the ones we’ve used, and after briefly studying our aesthetic, Anthony hand drew a perfectly neat “WG” in gold above a strawberry. Two helpful captions accompany the strawberry: “Wild Greens” points to the leaves and stem of the strawberry. “Wild Strawberry” helpfully labels the red berry near the top.

I showed the family, and we all swooned and sighed over it, but when asked whether I was going to include it in the issue I balked. “I can’t include Anthony in this one.” I protested. “The theme is mediocrity!” And my nine-year-old nephew is anything but mediocre.

Thus, the problem with mediocrity. We reject its application to our loved ones, our friends, to everything and everyone except ourselves and our art. I heard from many people about this theme over the last month, and the primary takeaway was that we all feel mediocre, inadequate, and uninspired, pretty much all the time, and especially when we’re creating.

But if I learned anything from putting together this issue, it’s that what we find mediocre can be a source of beauty. It’s not all highs and lows; there is peace in the everyday. People wrote about the mediocre as a source of inspiration, and even as a source of peace, of coming to terms with our inadequacies in the face of a world that demands perfection.

One caveat: theme aside, you won’t find a shred of mediocrity in this issue.

Hiram Larew’s playful poem “Intentions” speaks to the inadequacies of language. “Sorry Not Sorry,” the newest Turtle and Hare, to the difficulty of apologies.  

Sean Hughes’s essay “The Pleasures of Competence” examines the unlikely draw of a perfectly okay movie, not a masterpiece, not a failure… just competent. Irina Novikova’s wax crayons and paper triptych “Untitled” finds peace in the lull of feeling uninspired, in the “backwater” of mediocrity.  

Lauren Kimball’s longform comic, “Late: Three Weeks and Twenty-Four Hours With a Deadline” explores the artist’s difficulty with meeting deadlines, and finds an unlikely comfort in time passed and deadlines missed. (Editor’s note: Lauren has never missed a Wild Greens deadline.)

Carly Lewis’s “When Sami Comes to Visit” relishes the quiet moments of long-lasting friendship. Susan Marie Radloff’s watercolor still life, entitled “First Still Life,” finds beauty in the domestic, in the commonplace.

Melissa Lomax’s “Sometimes It’s Okay,” speaks to the difficulty of being a self-employed artist and the pressures to always be producing. It’s okay, she says, to take some time for yourself. Fern Marshall’s “Gentle instructions for finding beauty in the humdrum” is a blueprint for how to take that time.

Follow Fern’s instructions and you are guaranteed to find joy in the unremarkable, inspiration in the humdrum, and wonder at the beauty of the everyday.

-Rebecca

Intentions

by Hiram Larew

Untitled

by Irina Novikova

Wax crayons, paper

Inspiration: For me, mediocrity is a kind of lull, like a backwater. Where the flow of water has stopped, the backwater will then be cleaned. Mud and algae will be taken out, but now, when the time comes for peace and quiet real estate, then when you want to stop and look at the greenery of grass or forests, it's like an eternal meadow filled with flowers. For some reason, I remember one name, Charcoal Feather Federation, a Japanese animated film (there were about 25 episodes), where the action takes place in some almost perfect world. There is a forge, there is also a shop where buns and bread are baked, and people live there after death and have gray wings behind their backs. There is silence and no evil. Another comparison that comes to mind is the name of Violet Evergarden, a girl who fought in the war and then began to write wonderful, feeling-filled letters. Probably mediocrity, but for me it's peace.

Late: Three Weeks and Twenty-Four Hours with a Deadline

by Lauren Kimball

Digital stylus

Inspiration: I am mediocre at meeting important deadlines. I am pretty excellent at being about 24 hours late. Usually, I avoid confronting this source of shame in my life, but this month's theme inspired me to explore it.

Editor's note: For mobile users, turn phone to landscape mode for best viewing.

Gentle instructions for finding beauty in the humdrum

by Fern Marshall

Go outside. Notice. Collect fragments of joy—the vibrating chest of a blackbird singing on a bare tree in November, a purple haze of lupins lining a train track. Hold them close—in your heart, in your palm. Write them down. Talk about them. Take a photograph. Look up. Look down. Look at a dandelion close-up, and then look at everything all at once. Look at the colours. Listen birdsong, bee-hum, rustling grasses. Touch soft velvet leaf, delicate petal, fallen feather. Smell fennel, pineapple weed, blushing rose. Seek small, scrappy beaches and tiny harbours with bobbing boats. Look up—peach sunset, translucent moon, glinting weathervanes. Look down—pastel chalk drawings, damp petals, puddles reflecting the sky. Find a park and walk barefoot, then lie back on a constellation of daisies and clover and watch the pale bellies of swifts swoop overhead. Find a lilac tree or a tiny garden full of roses and visit it each year when it blooms. Learn the names of the flowers and trees you see and greet them as friends. In almost every moment, there is a piece of the natural world nearby to steady you—a square of window, a breath of fresh wind, a tiny flower. Pay attention to the seasons, the shifting skies, the ever-changing moon. Watch plants bud, bloom, and fade away. Let it remind you that nothing is permanent. Go outside in all weathers, in clothes that keep you dry and warm, but remember to turn your face to the skies. Let the rain and hail and snow kiss your face.