Gardening is Art

It turns out flower gardening meets the criteria in the definition of art: it is a human activity dedicated to the creation of a physical item principally meant to be appreciated for its beauty and emotional impact.
How much of it is the gardener’s input and how much of it is nature’s mercy is debatable. I’m a humble gardener, and by that I mea
I don’t impose my will to maintain an absolute grip on the initial landscape design. The garden decides what to keep and what to toss, sometimes with bizarre effects. This year it seems it decided to spoil me, so here it is in its crowning glory at the beginning of June, simply covered in flowers, and the full blooming season hasn’t even started yet.
Gardens are rewarders of patience, flourishing on the work of seasons past, the pigment on their canvas is many layers thick, many years in the making: delphiniums, four years ago, roses, three years ago, garden sage, last summer. None of them looked good during their first year, most didn’t even look like they were going to make it at all. Some didn’t.
And yet, here we all are, at the beginning of June, looking at an earthly depiction of vacation in paradise, painted in rosy-violet shades to boot.
Just to take me down a peg on the ladder of sinful pride, a rabbit decimated all the foliage on one of the new roses, every single leaf of it.
I can’t stop looking at the flower beds, all glowing in the sunshine, heavy with roses, as I try to retrace my steps, to remember when I planted what, and if they turned out as I expected, only to realize that they didn’t.
So, if your semi-finished painting looks nothing like what you originally envisioned, is the end result still art? I’m going to say it is.