MANIFESTO—

‘let us be grateful to people who make us happy, 
they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom’

— Marcel Proust

The flowers are popping in Sydney this month, bursting forth with hope in a bushel of colours—pink, purple, yellow. All spindly leaves and billowy petals, which can’t help but command your gaze. A cheerful note in a still yet uncertain social landscape. 

And they have got me thinking about the gardens we grow—those within and those without. At home, we recently planted a herb garden because we grew tired of buying sad parcels of parsley from the market, only to watch them wilt on arrival. The choice may have been rooted in practicality, but it quickly sprouted off in its own joyful direction. It brought us together as a family, hands in soil and watering cans in tow. It was our son’s first experience of planting something into the earth, tending to it, and watching it grow. And it was a reminder that often it is the simplest things that make our souls blossom.

I love Marcel Proust’s words about the ‘charming gardeners who make our souls blossom’ and it leads me to ponder the ways in which we seek them out. Do they grow their way into our lives, the way that flowers grow wild from the verdant fields to the concrete jungles? Were they always destined to weave their way into our lives, to help our souls blossom in one way or another?

The artist in me believes that this is the case. As Agnes Martin says, 'Artists are intuitive. They wait for inspiration. That’s what art is about, the intuitive, not the intellectual.’ Certainly, nature is intuitive. We know that the flowers will burst forth at a certain time each year, but we do not always know exactly when, nor what that will look like. 

It is the same with ourselves—we know that we are meant to enjoy periods of growth and regrowth, throughout the various seasons of life. We know there are certain ingredients that can assist with this process, too, as water and sunlight do for the blossoms. But we do not know exactly what each season will bring and, thus, we must tend to the soil with a measure of blind faith. To plant the seed and to be our own charming gardener. 

For Chapter Five of JANE PRIVÉE, we visit the studio of Australian artist Dan Kyle, who paints with flowers. We contemplate what it means to plant the seed with Vert Creations in the Netherlands and trace ancestral trees through visual poetry with Sophie Brockwell. Off Carte muses on the harvest moon and Teo Josserand transports us to Avignon for a moment of intuitive pause. 

The flowers are in full bloom now. So this month, we invite you to tend the creative garden within and wait for inspiration to blossom in the sun.

Rosie Dalton 

MASTHEAD

editors-in-chief and creative directors 
Annika Hein and Odin Wilde

online editor
Rosie Dalton

production and publishing 
The Grey Attic

contributing writers and poets 
Annika Hein, Off Carte, Rosie Dalton

contributing artists and image makers  
Annika Hein, Daniel Kyle, Danique Dobbe, Georgia Ramman, Ilja Guepin,
Linda Tjaturono, Odin Wilde, Rosie Dalton, Rusudan Khizanishvili,
Sara Ratufus, Simone Frank, Sophie Brockwell, Teo Josserand

on the cover 
photographer and stylist isabel sasse
model abigail o’neil, silver fox management

JANE acknowledges the Traditional Custodians of the lands on which we live, learn, and work, and we pay respect to their Elders past, present, and emerging.
We recognise their continuing cultural and spiritual connection to land and waters, and we commit to working to honour this connection.
This country was never ceded. It always was and always will be Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander land.

© 2022 JANE by The Grey Attic, the authors, artists, and photographers. All rights reserved. 
No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher.