Written By Janne Lee

The Practice of Slowing Down

Slowing down is not something I set out to master. It became a practice because it had to.

This space has taken different shapes over the years. My very first website was for my photography studio — a story for another time. Since then, platforms have changed, seasons have changed, and so have I.

When I began sharing more of my artwork online, my focus centered on mixed media and experimentation. I was teaching full time and creating in the margins of busy days. The studio was layered and full of motion.

During a nine-month span, my life shifted in ways I could not have imagined. I experienced profound loss and was diagnosed with cancer. During chemotherapy, I physically could not continue teaching. My world narrowed. It grew quieter.

Slowing down wasn’t a philosophy. It was the only pace available to me.

In that quiet, I returned to something much older.

My dad is where my love of nature began. He taught me how to skip rocks across still water and how to fish with a broken branch, a line, and a hook. We camped. We wandered trails. We paid attention to light, weather, and the small things most people pass by. He also gave me my sense of humor and my love of music. He would break out singing a song without warning, wherever we were, and he could make you laugh just as quickly.

Sunflower Field

Gradually, my creativity returned, but it looked different.

Botanical printing. Natural inks made from walnut hulls and pokeberries. Cyanotypes drying in the sun. Handmade brushes for mark-making. Work that takes time. Work that asks for patience. Work that cannot be rushed.

I don’t create in volume. I create with intention, thought, and care.

Since then, there have been other seasons that required me to begin again. Life doesn’t stop asking things of us. But this slower way of living and working keeps me grounded. It gives me something steady to return to.

The video shared here is part of that continuing rhythm.

If you’ve found yourself needing a different pace too, maybe this season is an invitation.

To step outside.
To notice what’s already around you.
To tend something small and living.

Slow Down.
Notice the Natural World.

That’s where my art begins.

And perhaps, in your own way, it’s a place you can begin again too.

Janné 🩷🌿✌🏼

When my life slowed, those early lessons surfaced again.

At first, my time outside wasn’t about making art. It was about tending what was close.

I began working in my garden more, and I continue to do so. I pay attention to texture, height, seasons, and color. Each year I add new plants and sometimes new beds. Bulbs, tubers, bushes, perennials. Some thrive. Some don’t.

Hydrangeas, peonies, and dahlias. Cosmos stretching up in late summer. Hollyhocks standing tall against the fence.

Every plant has different needs. Different timing. Different light.

Working in the garden keeps my body moving. It clears my head. The more I pay attention, the more I see.

I tend to the resident birds with food, shelter, water, and natural nesting material. Each spring I watch for baby birds and feel that steady sense of renewal.

Hydrangea leaves print beautifully. Peonies are stunning in the garden, and they give an interesting print unlike any other plant I’ve tried. Each season continues to teach me something new.

The garden has become both classroom and quiet studio.

I am still learning. Still growing. Just as the plants do.