I love the swamp, everything about it. The smell, the sounds, the feel of life all silky and slick. There’s magic. In the best way. I’ve heard the swamp described as the lungs of the land. That place where elements meet. Water flows in soiled and and seeps clean. Slow brewed clear into the earth. Tannin stained tea slips and slides toward the sea. Pure and sweet. Gold.
I’ve spent a lot of time in swamps. My mind swims beneath lily pads. It looks up to see their red-veined underbellies. White shadow blossoms float and wiggle about me. Yellow Spatterdock bonnets wave high. I swim in the wake of snakes and bream. Watch the flies dance on the surface. Darting. Looping.
Life bites. It feeds on life. Swamp creatures know. The midge and gnat give up to fish and bat. Bullfrog knows the egret’s spear. Yellow eared turtle dodges the lunge of the alligator. All swim and squirm in the puddle of life. All kneel to the ancient Cypress. The gods of the swamp.
The gods. The kings and queens. Cypress trees hold secrets of thousands of years. They stand and watch others come and go. Species, tribes, colonies and cults. They hold on to their last scrap of wet peat to bear witness to the ages. Millions of saws toothed their trunks. Dropped kin to be floated down river to mills. Or worse, left to burn or rot.
I'll be the first to admit that I’ve been stuck lately. At a creative impasse. Finished Shantyboat Stories. Written. Edited. Printed. Delivered. It’s done. The drudgery of dealing with promotion and sales is gut-wrenching for the creative spirit. I am elbow-deep in that. If you have not acquired a copy click below. It’s a romp. Laughter to tears. I’m not sorry I did it.
To break the block I go to the swamp. Look and listen. I watch the way the still water filters and purifies. I scoop up a jar of water that covers the black peat. It’s so lightly stained it’s almost clear. I turn the vessel up to my lips and take a deep swig. It’s pure and clean. Tastes of life. The water quotes, “This is my blood, I give for you.” And it does.
The swamp cleans and nourishes. It is the cradle of life. We kill the swamp we kill ourselves. We murder the ancient kings and queens to build temporal palaces for a species meant for doom. Craft deck chairs for a sinking ship.
They tell us to drain the swamps. Fools say. “They are sloppy bogs of decay and death.” And then. “Lets use them as resources. That black peat bottom will grow our crops. It’ll fatten our mutton.” And they cry. “Drain. Cut. Destroy. Build.”
Our species manufactures well its own demise.
So what do we do? What do I do?
First we acknowledge that each and every one of us are complicit in the demise of these sacred wet lands. It is more of an “us” than a “them.”
We admit that we treat natural world as our servant. A slave to our desires.
Next we pledge to be better. At least to learn. Knowledge can help save what is left.
Realize that those wild wet places are not there for our use or enjoyment but they are there to keep us alive.
God. I over-do and preach myself into a hole.
But, I am painting. It is my way to embrace the beauty of the swamp. Memorialize those creatures who sink into the wet.
Chesser’s Gator. 32”x40”. oil on canvas in progress
Not quite finished with this one but I needed to stop and post this. It was a gator on the side of the road near the Chesser place. He fell into a lovely compositionl. Inadvertent. But lucky.
Big Dan. 48”x 18”. Oil on canvas. in progress.
I’ve a little left to do on this one also. But you can see my direction. This ancient beauty is located near the Santa Fe River Rise.
Palestine Lake Margins with Helianthus. 32” x 40” Oil on Canvas. in progress.
These paintings and others along with writing answer my question to myself. “What do I do?”
If you want to partner with me in this process you may by financially supporting my work. Buying books. Collecting paintings. Subscribing to this Substack all go directly to my keeping things going. Every bit is appreciated. If you can’t contribute, just give me a shout or share this with someone who can. I’m working like crazy. Come see me.
Be on the look out for a new episode of our podcast. We will have Neil Armingeon on to talk about wetland conservation. Please don’t drain the swamp.
Jim
Jim, I am still relishing your words from this post. Thank you. I share with you and all artists, ‘Craft & Current, A Manual For Magical Writing’ and Drifting Into Darian by Janisse Ray. Her nature writing is a balm to the soul of creatives.
Thank you Leigh. Yes, I figure I have at least ten years left and maybe twenty. Want to keep going. So much left to say.