Nola & Thalya
Nola
I’ve been trying to capture the faint shimmer of a new bromeliad species with translucent leaves, it feels like a living mirror in a quiet rain. Have you ever seen something like that, or have a favorite that makes you pause?
Thalya
I’ve seen one called the “Glass Plant,” its leaves look like dew on a window, it feels like a quiet sunrise reflected in water, and I never forget to add it to my notes.
Nola
Glass Plant, oh, the way its leaves catch the light like tiny prisms of morning dew—there’s something so still in them. I love when a plant feels like a quiet sunrise. How do you keep your notes, do you sketch first or jot the colors straight away?
Thalya
I usually sketch first, tiny leaf outlines, then colour the notes like a watercolor of the sky at dawn, the way it reminds me of light filtering through leaves. I keep the drawings in a small journal, the pages as soft as moss, so the plant remembers me.
Nola
That sounds so gentle—sketching the leaf first, then painting the sky of color over it. I love how a journal can feel like a patch of moss, a quiet place for the plant to stay with you. Do you ever feel the plant’s memory come back when you look at it?
Thalya
Sometimes the page smells faintly of soil, and I hear the plant’s quiet whisper, like wind through leaves. I pause, and the memory of that mossy journal feels like the plant breathing beside me.
Nola
Ah, that little scent of soil, like a whisper of earth beneath a leaf, makes the journal feel almost alive. It’s as if the plant is breathing beside you, reminding you that every page holds a quiet pulse of growth.