How Florida Changed My Art

Looking back at the past year, I realize how much my surroundings have influenced my work.

More and more, the nature of Florida—my home for the last four years—has become a source of inspiration for my watercolor paintings. The colors, the wildlife, the tropical plants, and the year-round growing season have opened an entirely new creative world for me.

Two years ago, I started my first garden.

Honestly, it felt a little funny at first because my gardening experience was limited to childhood summers spent in my grandmother’s village in Russia. My cousin and I helped pull weeds, water vegetables, and pick berries. That was the extent of my gardening knowledge. We lived in a cold climate where the growing season was short and every spring felt like a fresh beginning.

When I moved to Florida, I had to start from zero.

Every seed I place into the soil still feels like a small miracle. Watching a tiny sprout emerge, grow stronger, flower, and attract wildlife never stops amazing me. Gardening has taught me patience, observation, and appreciation for nature’s quiet rhythms—the same qualities I try to bring into my watercolor paintings.

Of course, gardening isn’t always as romantic as it sounds.

About a year ago, I proudly grew a beautiful row of green beans. I checked on them every day, imagining the harvest to come. Then one morning I walked outside and discovered that every single bean plant had disappeared overnight. The local deer had apparently enjoyed a gourmet dinner in my garden while I was sleeping.

Then there was the Great Hornworm Incident.

One day my tomato plants looked absolutely magnificent—lush, green, and thriving. The next day, they looked as if someone had attacked them with scissors. After a closer inspection, I found several enormous tomato hornworms happily feasting on the leaves. I had never seen such giant caterpillars before. They were impressive, fascinating, and completely devastating to my tomatoes at the same time.

And then there was the hurricane.

One season, after months of planting, watering, weeding, and watching everything grow, a hurricane swept through our neighborhood. The next morning, I walked outside to find a fallen tree lying directly across my raised garden beds. Just like that, much of the garden I’d worked so hard to build was gone.

That’s Florida gardening.

You learn quickly that nature gives and nature takes away.

But somehow, the rewards always outweigh the disappointments.

The excitement of harvesting our very first pineapple. The pride of growing watermelons under the Florida sun. Pulling carrots and radishes from the soil. Watching pumpkins grow from tiny flowers into bright orange treasures. These moments may seem small, but they stay with you.

What began as a simple gardening experiment has become something much deeper. It’s not really about the vegetables, flowers, or fruit anymore. It’s about memories. It’s about learning. It’s about sharing the experience with family. It’s about finding joy in small victories and accepting the occasional setback.

Every bloom, every butterfly, every hummingbird visit, every harvest becomes part of a larger story.

And many of those stories eventually find their way into my watercolor paintings.

My garden has become a source of inspiration, energy, and wonder—a place where creativity grows alongside the plants. Some of my favorite artworks have started not in the studio, but among the magnolias, tomatoes, wildflowers, and hummingbird plants outside my door.

For me, gardening and painting are connected by the same feeling: hope. You plant a seed, nurture it, and trust that something beautiful will emerge.

Over the past two years, I’ve become fascinated with Florida’s native plants and local ecosystems. I love visiting small nurseries and discovering new species that support butterflies, hummingbirds, and pollinators - now I have a tea plant, sweet almond, milkweed and much more)

This year alone, I’ve grown roselle, citrus trees, ornamental grasses, okra, tomatoes, and pumpkins. I especially adore okra flowers—their bold shapes and glowing color seem made for watercolor.

I’ve also learned how to propagate bromeliads, bougainvillea, and jasmine. My garden now includes firebush, firecracker plant, shrimp plant, wildflowers, and many other nectar-rich blooms that attract butterflies and hummingbirds throughout the year.

One of my favorite surprises happened when I first encountered a hummingbird in the garden. I heard a loud buzzing sound right next to my head and instinctively jumped, convinced some large insect was about to attack me. Instead, I discovered a tiny hummingbird hovering beside a flower. For such a small bird, they make an astonishing amount of noise—like miniature helicopters.

And then there are our two Southern Magnolias.

Every spring, I wait for their enormous creamy-white blossoms to appear. Their flowers are both elegant and dramatic, and I’ve spent countless mornings studying their petals, colors, and changing light. In fact, they have already become the inspiration for a new watercolor collection that will be released soon.

What started as a small gardening experiment has become something much larger. My garden is no longer just a garden—it is my outdoor studio, my classroom, and one of my greatest creative partners.

Many of the flowers, birds, butterflies, and landscapes that appear in my recent paintings began as moments observed just outside my own door.

And perhaps that’s what I love most about gardening: it reminds me to slow down, pay attention, and find beauty in the ordinary.

Dasha