Observe the ordinary and celebrate it fiercely; living is an act of artistry. — Mary Oliver
Attention as the First Brushstroke
Mary Oliver’s line makes a simple, subversive claim: artistry begins not with paint or pen but with looking. To observe the ordinary is to mix the first colors of a life well made. Oliver framed this as a daily method: "Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it" (Red Bird, 2008). The sequence matters—attention opens astonishment, and astonishment asks to be shared, whether in words, gestures, or choices. Thus, before technique or talent, the craft of living rests on the discipline of noticing. From this starting point, the rest of our days become materials.
The Sacred Ordinary
Once attention steadies, the ordinary reveals its hidden ceremony. Thoreau’s close watching of Walden Pond turned a modest kettle of water into a lens on the cosmos (Walden, 1854). Likewise, the wabi-cha tea tradition shaped by Sen no Rikyū (16th c.) elevates humble bowls and quiet gestures, teaching that grace gathers in small, unadvertised moments. Such practices do not add glamour to life; they remove haste, letting inherent radiance appear. With this recognition, we are ready not only to see the ordinary but to celebrate it—fiercely.
Celebration as Fierce Practice
Fierceness here is not volume; it is commitment. To celebrate the everyday means to endorse it with presence, to linger and name what is good. Psychology calls this savoring—deliberately amplifying positive experience—shown to increase well-being (Bryant & Veroff, 2007). Even brief rituals, like recounting three small delights at day’s end, can reshape mood (Emmons & McCullough, 2003). Such celebration resists cynicism without denying difficulty; it fortifies us to meet the world as it is. Having learned to honor what is at hand, we can treat living itself as a creative act rather than a sequence of tasks.
Life as Ongoing Composition
If living is an art, it is a process art—composed in drafts and revisions. Japanese kintsugi repairs cracked pottery with gold lacquer (15th c.), transforming fracture into feature; in the same spirit, our imperfections can become design elements rather than defects. Wabi-sabi aesthetics value transience and patina, teaching that time’s wear can be beautiful. Oliver asks, "What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" (The Summer Day, 1990), reframing existence as an authored piece. From this vantage, style is ethics in motion—and the canvas extends beyond the self.
An Ecology of Attention
Attention that lingers on the ordinary often falls, naturally, on the more-than-human world. Rachel Carson urged adults to keep alive a child’s sense of wonder as a foundation for stewardship (The Sense of Wonder, 1965). Research on awe suggests that encounters with vastness—like a canopy of stars—shrink self-focus and increase generosity (Keltner & Haidt, 2003; Piff et al., 2015). Thus, observing a sparrow or the angle of late light is not escapism; it is rehearsal for care. This outward turn prepares us to resist what dulls perception in the first place.
Resisting Spectacle with Presence
Modern life floods us with images engineered to hijack attention. John Berger warned how spectacle teaches us to desire elsewhere (Ways of Seeing, 1972), while Sherry Turkle chronicles how constant connection can thin conversation (Reclaiming Conversation, 2015). William James wrote, "My experience is what I agree to attend to" (Principles of Psychology, 1890), reminding us that attention is a vote. To choose the ordinary is to reclaim authorship from algorithms. Having set this intention, we need concrete tools to train the eye and heart.
Training the Eye and Heart
Adopt small, repeatable forms: a daily "one-square-foot safari" where you study a patch of ground for five minutes; a morning haiku; a photo-a-day constrained to textures; a weekly still-life sketch of kitchen objects. Keep a pocket notebook for lines of astonishment. Mark micro-celebrations—a cup of tea taken without multitasking, a note of thanks placed where someone will find it. Over time, these practices braid into habit, shaping a life that does not wait for grand moments. In this way, observation becomes celebration, and living becomes what Oliver promised—an act of artistry.