Hand-painted plant signs inject soulful warmth into the garden

Recently, I was tidying up the pots of half-dead green plants on the balcony, and I suddenly discovered a problem - I couldn't even name them all. Are the pots with curled leaves short of water or sunburned? Does the tree next to me that never blooms need fertilizing? After searching online for a long time, I became more and more confused. Finally, I stared at a pile of small plastic labels in a daze. Those printed words were cold and incompatible with the fresh vitality of plants.

Hey, why don't you draw a few yourself?

When this idea came up, I couldn't suppress it, so I just did it. I rummaged through the box and found the leftover oil pastels, a few quick-drying watercolor pens used by my children, and a few small pieces of wood left over from last year's DIY. When I started writing for the first time, my hands were shaking. I wanted to draw a leaf, but the result was a crooked oval. The eraser didn't work well on wood, so I had to bite the bullet and continue tracing. Unexpectedly, this "imperfection" turned out to be clumsy and interesting. I used green to draw the veins of the leaves, brown to draw the branches, and finally wrote the word "mint" in the corner. The handwriting was skewed like a primary school student's homework.

I inserted it into the potted mint plant that I bought from the supermarket, and something wonderful happened. The simple little wooden sign stood there, and the temperament of the entire potted plant was different. It was no longer an "object", and suddenly there was a story, and there were traces of my participation in it. The sunlight shone on the rough brushstrokes, and those uneven color blocks seemed to be breathing.

This is probably the charm of hand-painted signs. It is first of all a "dialogue". You have to carefully observe your plants.: Are the leaves pointed or rounded? How do veins grow? How many petals does a flower have? How does the color subtly change in the sunlight? This process forces you to slow down and really "see" it. When you draw a fern, you will notice the elegant curvature of each of its feathery leaves. ； Depicting the succulent, you will be moved by the vitality contained in its thick leaves. This observation itself is a kind of connection and recognition.

It is an outlet for individuality. The signs coming off the factory assembly line are all the same, but each hand-painted piece is unique. You can use fresh watercolor to outline the softness of herbs, you can use strong acrylic to express the passion of tropical flowers, or you can use black pen to make minimalist line drawings. The handwriting is the soul - is it neat regular script or casual handwriting? Should I write a serious Latin name, or should I write a naughty "cute who loves to drink water"? On the sign that my neighbor's old man gave him the old camellia, there were only two words written on it.: “"Old friend", every time I see it, I feel warm in my heart.

The making process itself is a kind of healing. Find a weekend afternoon, spread out the tools, and focus on the small "canvas" in front of you. The world becomes quiet, only the rustling sound of the pen tip scratching the surface. It doesn't matter if the painting is broken, the wood chips can be polished off and the pottery pieces can be started again. It can be covered with primer. This kind of low-threshold creation that allows trial and error can bring the most direct sense of accomplishment, especially when you insert the hand-drawn sign into the soil, stand up and pat the dust on your hands. That feeling of satisfaction cannot be replaced by shopping for a hundred exquisite signs online.

The choice of materials is part of the fun. I like to collect all kinds of "scrap"”: The remaining fir wood slats from the decoration have rough edges, giving them a pastoral feel. ； I picked up flat pebbles from the beach and painted them with acrylic patterns. They are heavy and have a texture. ； Even thick cardboard coated with multiple layers of varnish can last for a long time indoors. The brushes are not limited to one style, such as a fine-tip needle pen for drawing lines, and a flat-tip gouache for laying out colors. Sometimes I dip my fingers directly into the paint and spread it, which makes the effect more vivid. The key is not how professional the tools are, but the intention of "how I want to make it."

Hand-painted signs carry more memories. Last spring, we sowed sunflowers with my children. We drew the sign together. He drew a big smiling sun, and I added the three crooked words "sunflower". Now the sunflowers have long withered, but the childish sign is still in use. In the drawer, a friend gave me pothos when moving house. When I painted the sign, I specially used her favorite blue color. Every time I watered it, I thought of her when I saw the sign. These small paintings became anchors of memory, concretely fixing periods of time and emotions in the corners of the garden.

It is not perfect, the rain will make the color fade, the sunlight will make the wooden sign crack, and the hand-painted handwriting may not be as clear as the printed one, but it is these "imperfections" that give it the dimension of life and time. The mottled colors washed by the rain go through the four seasons like a plant. ； The natural cracks of the wood have become part of the pattern. We accept the withering and prosperity of plants, why can’t we accept the aging of signs? This feeling of changing together and "living" together may be what we really long for in our hearts.

In this era where everything can be purchased with one click and everything pursues efficiency, drawing a sign for a plant by hand seems to be a "silly" thing. It is time-consuming, laborious, and not durable. However, it is this "uneconomical" investment and the clumsy temperature transmitted by our fingertips that allows us to take care of our own hearts while taking care of the plants. It makes gardening no longer just a planting technique, but a continuous and creative self-expression.

If you also feel that something is missing in the garden, you might as well put down your mobile phone temporarily, find a small board, and pick up any drawing tools at hand. Don't worry about whether the painting is good or not, and don't worry about whether the writing is beautiful or not. Just start with your favorite pot of plants and make a unique "ID card" for it. When you are finished, you may find that that small hand-painted sign lights up not only the name of the plant, but also the gentle light between you and nature that we have ignored for a long time.