Looking: Large and Small
Words by Jessica J. Lee
Illustrations by Rowan Hisayo Buchanan
Generously funded by the National Centre for Writing: Open Doors programme
Looking: Large and Small is an illustrated guide to the seasons and some of the simple things that you can look for, from blossoms to birds, whether you live in the city or country. Inside you’ll find a short journey through each season and some of the plants, animals, and other things you might spot, as well as a bank of ideas for how you can start looking at nature, large and small.
It’s been well documented that being out in nature is good for the mood. That’s very nice, but it can feel like a broad instruction. It can be difficult to know where exactly you’re meant to look and what it might mean. We hope this seasonal guide can give you a good idea of things to look out for, whether you’re new to noticing nature or well-versed in flora and fauna. The sections above feature some of the small pleasures and treasures we look for. We wrote it while in the UK and it is based on this climate. But if you are elsewhere you may find pleasure in noting your own correspondences and variations.
This collaboration was thrashed out as we wandered through London’s various parks in winter. Our coats and shoes got coated with mud and the wind bit into our necks—not a time when it felt easy to want to be outdoors. But creating this piece reminded us of the joy of simply paying attention to the world on our doorsteps—we hope you feel invited to do the same. To get started, simply click on the seasons above.
A note from the illustrator:
When I was younger, I had trouble ‘enjoying the fresh air’ or ‘being in nature’. I wanted to be inside with a book or the TV. I didn’t know what to do with nature. We didn’t feel compatible. My father’s favourite story about me was how, age five or so wearing jelly shoes, I walked straight into a cow pat. I wasn’t looking where I was going. And in general, I think that was the problem—I wasn’t looking. Nature was one green-brown boring blur. But somewhere along the way, I began to see.
I wanted to draw and drawing meant looking and noticing the way that veins on a tree match the veins in my hands. It meant realizing that the sky gets paler as you move towards the horizon. This is how I learned that directly upwards is the path with the least atmosphere between you and outer space. The darkness of the sky is the darkness of the vacuum between the stars. A simple pencil can take your mind to light years. Working on this project together helped me find that excitement again. I learned about the shape of a coot's feet, why rivers are clearest in autumn, and how to tell the difference between a swallow and swift.
It brought me out into the world.