Reflections on the Benefit of Studying Mundane Things in Life

 

David Hockney -who recently passed away- spoke often about making sure to see things, to really see them: the moonlight, the trees as they change with the seasons, and the way we notice aspects of the world that are often overlooked as ordinary commonalities.

For some years now, the dandelion has been that for me: a thing to see.

Recently, seeing dandelions has become a study. This spring I planted dandelion seeds. I forgot about them until I noticed the leaves emerging. Although I have witnessed each phase of dandelion development throughout my life and drawn them many times, it was the first time I had really followed the entire process from beginning to end, from seed through all of its transformations and finally into a shriveled collection of Bernoulli swirls and flickering light.

One discovery was how little I actually understood about the plant despite having painted it for years. The transformation from yellow flower to white sphere of seeds is something I had never fully grasped before watching it happen in real time. The blossoms open and close repeatedly over several days. At first they reopen each morning as the same bright flower. Then, after one final closing, something entirely different begins to emerge. The yellow petals recede, the seeds continue developing, and eventually a delicate globe of parachute-like filaments unfolds, ready to be carried away by the wind.

The Florilegium, an illustrated book of plants published in 1613, contains 367 copperplate engravings by the monk, botanist, and apothecary Basilius Besler, depicting flowers through all stages of their development. It does not include the dandelion. The dandelion remains largely overlooked today, unless you are Monsanto, which sees it as a profit center and something that needs eradication. Dandelions have been relegated to the status of a weed, something we are trained to hate and eliminate in order to preserve a uniformly green lawn.

Which is more beautiful, the lawn or the many varied plants that naturally grow there? When does a useful plant become a weed? On a farm, the answer is relatively straightforward. If you are growing strawberries and crabgrass takes over, the crabgrass becomes a problem. But outside that context, things become less clear. If plants are simply growing where nature places them, then they are better called natural growth. There is no such thing as a weed, really, unless someone decides what belongs and what does not.

For thousands of years people used dandelions for myriad purposes: as food, medicine, tea, wine, and all sorts of practical things. The leaves are edible, the roots can be roasted, and the plant has long been associated with supporting liver function. Even today one can find extracts, supplements, teas, and countless other products derived from it. Yet when the same plant appears in a lawn, it is the detested immigrant. That transformation fascinates me because the plant itself has not changed. The story about the plant has changed.

Once something is labeled undesirable, an entire economy can emerge around removing it. Companies sell products to eliminate it. Homeowners spend time and money fighting it. Entire industries benefit from maintaining distinctions between desirable plants and undesirable ones. Monsanto built an enormous business around herbicides designed to eradicate weeds from lawns and gardens. It's a conspiracy. One worthwhile question to ask is: who benefits from the story?

With that, the dandelion becomes more than a flower. It becomes a way of thinking about how value is decided and assigned. It's about how narratives are constructed. How certain things become worthy of cultivation while others are dismissed, ignored, or weedified. The world has its own versions of this process: art, education, culture. They all have influencers, tastemakers, and gatekeepers.

The nice thing is, that if you're a dandelion, you get to remain indifferent to the debate. You grow where you want, no abuse can contain you. The more time I spend with the dandelion, the more I appreciate not only its beauty, but also its persistence.

In this universe, the thing that is noticed is the thing that exists. In quantum physics, the properties of things appear to change when they are observed. I think the same is true in life. Things need attention in order to reveal themselves fully. For me, the act of studying dandelions means somebody is willing to fight for them. Not just the plant, but the “dandelions” of the world. That someone is me, with a paintbrush and some paint. I am committed to doing my best to capture their beauty in all phases and encourage a deeper appreciation for those things that, despite being everywhere, often goes unseen.