Botanical Art and the Birth of a Biophilic Life
Early 2024 arrived with the kind of clarity that only comes after years of gradual evolution suddenly crystallize into inevitable change. When the university finally sunsetted my remote work agreement, forcing a decision I had been avoiding for months, I surprised myself by feeling relief rather than anxiety. After eighteen years of institutional life—most of my adult working career—it was well past time to move on. What I couldn't have anticipated was how perfectly this professional ending would align with the artistic and personal direction my life was already taking.
Eighteen years is a significant chunk of anyone's life, especially when those years span some of the most transformative experiences a person can have. I had been hired by the university as someone completely different from who I was becoming—younger, more naive about institutional politics, more willing to accept that creativity was something you did on the side while "real work" paid the bills. I was leaving as someone who understood that creativity wasn't separate from professional life but could become its very foundation.
Filing for retirement felt like the formal acknowledgment of a truth I had been living for months: my heart and energy were no longer available for institutional service. They had been redirected toward something more immediate, more authentic, more aligned with the person I had become through cancer, divorce, single motherhood, relocation, and the slow discovery of what I actually wanted to contribute to the world.
Even before the university decision was finalized, my ceramic work had begun another evolution, this time toward botanically inspired forms. This wasn't a conscious pivot but an organic attraction that seemed to emerge from my deeper engagement with Oregon's natural environment. After years of creating art that processed trauma or manifested dreams, I found myself drawn to celebrating the intricate beauty of plant forms—the elegant curve of a fern frond, the geometric precision of succulent rosettes, the delicate strength of flower petals.
This botanical phase felt different from previous artistic directions. Where earlier work had been reactive—responding to illness, loss, or life changes—the plant-inspired pieces felt generative. They were about growth, adaptation, resilience, and the quiet persistence that characterizes living systems. Working with these forms felt like collaboration with forces larger than personal experience, connection to patterns that existed long before human consciousness and would continue long after.
As my ceramic work grew more botanical, I began to understand that what I was really exploring was biophilic design—the human need to connect with natural systems and the ways that incorporating organic elements into built environments enhances well-being and creativity. This wasn't just an artistic interest but a comprehensive approach to living that was reshaping how I thought about my home, my work, and my relationships.
The concept that humans have an innate affinity for natural systems explained so much about my artistic evolution. The found natural objects that had populated my mood boards, the outdoor inspiration that had driven my work since moving to Oregon, the way my creativity flourished when I was connected to authentic natural environments—all of this was part of a deeper biological need that I was finally learning to honor and cultivate.
This growing understanding of biophilic principles opened up an entirely new professional direction: interiorscape design, or interior plant-scaping. The same sensibilities that drove my botanical ceramic work could be applied to creating living environments that brought the psychological and physical benefits of nature into interior spaces. Suddenly, my years of working with natural forms and my understanding of how objects and spaces affect human experience converged into a viable career path.
Commission ceramic work became another natural extension of this direction. Clients who were drawn to my botanical pieces often wanted custom work that would complement their own living spaces or biophilic design projects. Creating ceramics specifically designed to harmonize with particular plants or interior environments felt like the perfect synthesis of artistic skill and environmental design.
By early 2024, all the different threads of my life were weaving together in ways that felt almost magical in their synchronicity. The retirement from university work freed up time and energy for developing both the interiorscape business and the commission ceramic practice. The botanical direction in my art provided natural content for both professional paths. My understanding of biophilic design gave me a framework for integrating all these interests into a coherent life philosophy.
Oregon's abundant natural beauty provided endless inspiration for botanical forms while also serving as a laboratory for understanding how human well-being improves when we're surrounded by thriving plant life. My kjærlighetsmake and our blended family supported this new direction, understanding that my professional satisfaction enhanced everyone's quality of life.
Perhaps most significantly, this period marked the first time in my adult life when creative work became primary work rather than something squeezed in around institutional obligations. The commission pieces weren't just artistic expression but income generation. The interiorscape projects weren't just personal interest but professional service. The botanical ceramics weren't just therapy but career development.
This shift required adjusting my relationship to making art. Where creativity had previously been refuge from professional stress, it now needed to support professional success. The challenge was maintaining the authenticity and joy that made the work meaningful while also meeting client needs and market demands. Fortunately, the biophilic design framework provided a bridge—work that enhanced human connection to natural systems felt both personally meaningful and professionally valuable.
The phrase "the stars had finally aligned" isn't just metaphorical—it describes the rare experience of having personal passion, professional opportunity, artistic development, and life circumstances all support the same direction simultaneously. After years of compartmentalizing different aspects of my life, everything was finally working together toward common goals.
The botanical ceramic work informed the interiorscape design, which created opportunities for commission pieces, which provided income that supported continued artistic development. My understanding of how natural elements affect human well-being enhanced both my art and my client services. The biophilic design philosophy guided decisions about everything from studio organization to family lifestyle choices.
Like the plants that inspired my ceramic forms, this new direction represented growth toward optimal conditions rather than mere survival in challenging circumstances. The botanical phase of my work celebrated the miracle of organisms that persistently seek light, adapt to available resources, and create beauty through the simple act of thriving in their environment.
Early 2024 marked the beginning of a period when my life finally felt like thriving rather than surviving. The university retirement wasn't an ending but a release into work that felt authentic and sustainable. The botanical ceramics weren't just another artistic phase but the foundation for a comprehensive approach to living and working that honored both human creativity and natural systems.
For the first time since my cancer diagnosis six years earlier, I could envision a future that wasn't defined by recovery or escape but by growth, contribution, and the deep satisfaction of work that serves something larger than personal ambition. The stars hadn't just aligned—they had illuminated a path that felt like coming home to myself.
