All the butterflies (Artist Date #1)

Thoughts on a solo expedition for the sheer delight of it!

I open the door into a lush tropical garden. Around me, the air is humid and heavy. I wipe steam from my glasses, then look around. Butterflies! All the butterflies! They’re everywhere, fluttering around trees, landing on leaves. Red wing tips, flashes of yellow, two blue butterflies chasing each other.

I’ve decided to commit to weekly creative adventures and this is my first. “An Artist Date is a tool for attention,” says Julia Cameron in her book The Artist’s Way. “A once-weekly solo expedition to do something that enchants or interests you.” For the sheer delight of it. To escape, to explore, to listen to yourself.

So, I’ve come here, to the Butterfly House, at the Horniman Museum, London. Despite these warmer, longer springtime days, I’ve been so tired. Sleepless, low on motivation. These dates, I hope, are a way to replenish my energy, gather new ideas, feel braver in the world.

At the butterfly feeding station, a group of butterflies sip fermenting juice from sliced melon, kiwi, mango. I watch their tiny tongues lick and curl. They’ve been there a while. I feel strangely moved by their stillness.

My phone calls me to take a picture, but I know if I do, I’ll also check emails or stare at the news, feel the bleakness of the headlines. I’ll miss this time watching butterflies drink. I look back to the butterflies and remember that they taste with their feet and don’t actually have tongues. They have proboscis. I watch their proboscises and think about that word. I wonder if I can use proboscis in the short story I’m drafting.

Meanwhile, a territorial zebra-patterned butterfly stakes its claim on a banana, waving its antennae at the others. Giant owl butterflies continue drinking, the yellow and black 'eyes' on their resting wings noticing everything. They open and shut these wings, as regular as breathing, revealing a bright blue interior.

For most of my visit, I’m alone, except for an interlude when a parent and her toddler wander around pointing, then a young man with a great phone completes a circuit snapping pictures. He smiles a lot, I do too. I’m glad because this week I had an unpleasant encounter with someone who would not allow me to hold the door open for him, grew angrier and angrier. My action was done in kindness but he saw it as impertinence. I’ve come to the butterflies for something like rest, something like calm.

I’ve promised myself an hour here, so I walk around, returning again to the feeding station where the butterflies drink and drink some more. The scent around me is earthy, sticky and sweet.

Butterflies move their wings in figures of eight, says a sign, pushing the air underneath and around their bodies. I like that. You should stand when observing butterflies so you don’t cast a shadow that could scare them away. I have friends like that. Butterflies like to rest on the warm ground. Tread softly. There are people like that, too.

Their life cycle is only a few weeks, says the butterfly volunteer. I can’t comprehend the shortness and the sadness of this. How they emerge into the world only for a moment. It makes me glad I’m here, to enjoy their company if only for a while.

Gemma x

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March 2025. This essay is by Gemma Seltzer who runs Write & Shine, a programme of early morning writing workshops. Artwork by Boyoun Kim. More on Julia Cameron and her brilliant Artist Dates here!