Notes from Nature

Letter from the Editor as published in the December 2022 issue

My neighbour’s property surrounds ours in a horseshoe—hay field to the east, soybean to the west, and a small forest to the south. They have invited us to use their horse trails and I take advantage of this in moments when work overwhelms me or I can’t focus on the task at hand. This fall, on a day when nothing came easy, I donned my rubber boots and went searching for the metaphor I needed for this letter.

The air was warm and I didn’t need a jacket, even though November was knocking branches together in an anthem of impending chill. Leaves crunched beneath my feet as I wandered past the homemade jumps erected along the path where the neighbour’s daughter trains for equestrian shows. Huge evergreens stand on the corner where I can choose the path to the deer stand or the path to the pond. They tower like lampposts, proud and loud against the lip of a rolling field that is only there to serve the wildlife. The ground beneath the trees is riddled with dead leaves from the row of maples that line the fence, but when I look up, I see that just as many leaves are caught in the boughs, nestled there in the arms of the one who refused to let them fall.

I was struck by the poetry of this image and how the mission of Blank Spaces aligns so seamlessly with what I saw before me. When I started this magazine it was to be a place to find creative community. I envisioned it as the resting place of the dandelion seeds we blow our wishes into.

So often, sharing our art feels like screaming into a dark void. It is lonely. It is a lot of ‘isn’t that nice,’ and ‘but what do you really do?’ When we feel unseen, we can lose our spark, our grip can unwind. We don’t want ‘isn’t that nice,’ we want to be celebrated for the colour we’re putting into the world—a world that would rather uphold “professionals” with “careers.” Perhaps we allow that societal pressure to bleed a bit of our colour away, and like a leaf that was once fresh and alive with possibility, the green slowly leeches to a red, orange, or yellow.

I’ve never understood the people who celebrate autumn. Yes, I recognize its short-lived beauty, the few weeks we have before everything is brown and dry—but then we’re surrounded by a symphony of death.

Angst can only take you so far and loneliness has driven beautiful artists to destructive paths. This is not romantic. This is the great tragedy of the creative life.

In community, there is potential. In designing a platform that rewards trying, there is hope. Blank Spaces strives to be the branch that will catch you when you’re tired of hanging on. We are here to remind you that what you’re making matters. It’s not just nice, it’s necessary. Humans have been making art since the beginning of time. Art existed before career.

If you’re a leaf, struggling to hang on to the branch, don’t worry. We’ve got you. Like that tree on my walk, we invite you to rest. The boughs of the evergreen create a natural cradle, arms outstretched in a timeless embrace. That tree can hold thousands of leaves that aren’t ready to meet the ground. So can we. We don’t care if you’re yellow, orange, or red. There’s room for everyone at the table. If you know in your heart that you’ve been put on this earth to create, if you believe the pursuit of happiness means building something out of nothing, if you celebrate the art in others and let it inspire you, then you have found your way home. Welcome to our branches. It is so good to have you here.

Alanna Rusnak

     Editor in Chief, Blank Spaces