16-03-2021 The wild boxwood in me
“Boxwood grows quite slowly and rarely gets the chance to develop as a tree.”
It was the first sentence that struck me when I did research for the boxwood on the internet. It touched me. I realized that I knew very little about a shrub that is so common in Dutch gardens. A short hedge around the roses or herbs, the perfectly pruned bulbs in formal gardens to the geometric pruned shapes. Everything neat, under control. I never found a boxwood that could run its course freely. You will always find them cast in patterns and shapes.
I suddenly realized why I had added the boxwood to my list of green friends for this year. By looking at the boxwood differently, I also started to look at myself differently. And I saw the patterns that have crept into my life, the beliefs I have and the stories that I tell myself. They limit me in my actions. I was like a molded boxwood.
This is how I discovered my beliefs in my creative process. As soon as I create, write or develop something, a second process starts. The process is full of self sabotage. "I don't make that many, because there probably isn't much interest in them. People don't want to hear the personal story behind it anyway. I am satisfied if 1 person wants to follow my course. What am I doing it for, who wants to hear or see me. Why should I film myself here, after all I don't live big and wide. My goodness, look at my double chin. How fat am I. I'm sure they think I'm weird when I make contact with plants.”
This process always and unfortunately does not come at my invitation. It was once ingrained. It shaped me. It's an old belief, an old story. And I suspect older than my life is. A belief in which many recognize themselves.
Yet I continue. Every time again. I feel it. The work wants to be made. By me.
For in me grows a large boxwood. She is no longer a shrub but a large tree. Wild and free. A box full of confidence. Enjoying the growing process. Regardless of the result, because she knows she is valuable. For me.
If you look closely, you can see the boxwood in me. It reflects in my shiny eyes when you ask me to tell you about plants, trees and flowers and what they mean to me. And how beautiful life is if we start looking differently. Beyond our stories and beliefs.