In the biological and environmental field we often stress the need for observation, to be aware of what is occurring around you and for noticing the relevant while ignoring the irrelevant. But we do not teach skills to build this faculty – we tell people what they should do but are absent in providing guidance on the how of doing it. So how does one become more observant and take greater notice of the environment they are within? Two tools already within your reach to develop or sharpen observation skills are drawing and writing.
Those of you that have sat in Technical Writing for Professionals with me know that I firmly believe, and can demonstrate, that everyone is inherently creative; that creativity is at the core of human nature and so we all possess it. Artistry and the choice to express that creativity may not appeal to everyone, but that is by choice, not by lacking creativity. When I speak of drawing here, I do not mean artistry: I mean draughtsmanship, drawing as well as you can what is in front of you. For hundreds of years, drawing was an essential component of training for the natural historians and scientists: it was so because of the immense values that it brings.
Imagine an oak leaf and an acorn that you have brought in from the field and is sitting on your kitchen table. Others may see a green leaf and brown nut. You could photograph it and study the photograph and you would see more – perhaps tooth marks in the nut where a squirrel tried to seize it; tracings of ants walking on the leaf; the shear angle of the leaf stem as it was pulled from the tree. But draw it! Oh, that is where you really notice things. When you try to capture the curves of the acorn bottom or the transition from the cap to the nut. The irregularities in the leaf. The way it does not lay flat on the table but is under tension, cupping some parts up and bowing others down. These are the observations that allow you to define that oak leaf, to move from identifying it to truly seeing it. Drawing is the process of taking these tools – zooming in from casual observation to photography, then to close study – and trying to replicate what we see in graphite. Bark of trees suddenly becomes intensely interesting and highly variable among species and ages. In trying to reproduce it on a page we become intimate with it; in so doing we learn the nuances of it. We notice differences, discrepancies, variation. Moving from bark to shapes of trees allows us to rapidly learn and discriminate trees and their details by shapes. We can do this with skulls, and rocks, and fish, and whatever interests you.
In this form of drawing, you are not striving for artistic perfection, that is not the point. Drawing is simply an exercise to force you to look more deeply and pay greater attention to the everyday than you ever have. Spend ten minutes drawing a leaf. The final product is unimportant, but your understanding of leaves will have been transformed.
Coupled with drawing, a second tool to become more observant is writing. Describe that acorn on your kitchen table. Use words to capture the shades of brown, how the light shifts across the roundness of the surface. How do you describe the roughness of the acorn cap? The length of the stalk? The size of the entire nut? Again, the output of what you write is far less important than your developing ability to see what is in front of you. Writing is the tool, not the outcome.
A colleague of mine, and one of the best field biologists I know, has an interesting strategy when starting a new project. He will outline the report that he knows he must write at the end, including what data should be in tables, what the figures should approximately look like, what photos may need to be included for the readers understanding. The final report may look far different from this, but the act of writing and conceptualizing the final product allows him to foresee what data, notes, images, and information he may have to collect in the field. Then, when out doing the work, he has primed his mind for what to be particularly observant for. Such an approach greatly reduces the probability of overlooking the important information and having to return to do it again. He has thought through – using writing as the tools of preference – what he needs to collect and notice in the field.
As a fun exercise to explore these tools and to see if you find them useful, I urge you to try the following. Go out into the field near where you live. Preferably a place that you really enjoy, and you think is lovely. Even if you think you know it very well, having been there many times, this will be a good spot. When you arrive, choose a location to sit. From this spot, photograph the scene in front of you; this is your first level of observation and is simply photo-documentation. Now spend ten minutes writing about what you see, hear, feel, and smell. These are not traditional, analytical, field notes. These are meant to be rambling trains of consciousness about the place you are looking at. Later they could be rewritten as a coherent description; right now, in the present, they are simply a brain-dump of your observations – from all of your senses – onto the page. This, then, is the second, and deeper, level of observation. Finally draw the scene or even just a small part of it. Go look more closely and draw that decaying stump with the young plants and lichen growing from it. Once you have done all three of these activities, be honest with yourself and answer the simple question, “Did I see or notice more by spending the time writing and drawing than what was captured by the photographs?” If yes, then you have discovered the power of these simple tools to transform how deeply you see the world. If the answer is no, then these tools are not for you.
We at NRTG wish you a Christmas season filled with peace and rest. May you spend time with family and loved ones, sharing the joy and goodwill of the season.
~Sean Mitchell
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