As I write this column, I am distracted by a blue heron standing on a piece of log that has drifted into the bay. (When I say “the bay” I mean the tranquil Bancroft Bay on the north side of Fountain Lake. It is a haven for pelicans and geese and ducks and turtles — all of the wildlife that seeks quiet and solitude, away from the excitement of waterskiing and swimming that takes place on the other part of the lake.)

The heron stands as still and straight as a statue, and I wonder what he sees in the murky waters, and how hungry he is. Years ago I watched another heron snatch and then swallow a bullhead that was far too big to go down that long, skinny neck, but it did. It was a fascinating process — seeing that long beak chomp and bite, sip up some water, and then chomp more to crush the bones of the fish.

I wonder if I’ll see it happen again.

My perspective of the heron seems a long way from “Creativity in Our Natural World,” the purpose of this column. I wonder.

If I were a wildlife artist, I would be fascinated by his coloration, his pose, the shimmering water surrounding him, the texture of the log and the shadow it casts. There is enough breeze today that the lakeshore grasses and the water surface keep changing. The lighter hues and darker colors, the greens and blues and silvers are different every moment.

I am reminded of Monet’s cathedral paintings. I believe there were 24 in his series — each identical except for the lighting. He had set up his canvases in a shop across the street from the Rouen Cathedral, and then he moved from one canvas to another as the light changed on the surfaces of the cathedral throughout the day.

This heron could be captured in the same way, but I doubt that he would cooperate with any painter that might choose to set up his canvas, or canvases, in the yard.

This heron is a part of our environment, and in a round-a-bout way, he reminds me of the exhibit that is currently showing at the Albert Lea Art Center, “Art in a Sustainable World.” Bonnie Wedge, Heidi Thompson and Sara Aeikens have produced a show that is reflective of our environment. Our natural environment in Heidi’s paintings, and our found environment in Bonnie’s dolls and Sara’s sculptures. These artists must all have interesting studios — still life collections for painting, and piles of stuff for the dolls and sculptures. What a joy to create an object of art out of the ordinary, to find beauty in the everyday.

I have always loved the art of Georgia O’Keefe. Her paintings of floral petals include details of the stamen and anther, the very inside of the blossom that when magnified in a painting creates an emotional response to nature’s beauty. I find it interesting that coming from the green state of Wisconsin, she would choose to make her home in New Mexico and to find inspiration in the desert, the mountains, the bleached animal bones, and the rocks. In her later years, she also chose the sky and clouds as subjects of her paintings.

Their natural and spiritual composition provide a dimension that is abstract in its quality — beautiful and inspiring.

Recently, I had the opportunity to visit the Oriental Institute Museum at the University of Chicago. I wanted to see the exhibit ‘The Life of Meresamun.” She was a temple singer in 800 B.C. in Egypt, and because of today’s technology, her coffin was scanned and the mummy was “virtually unwrapped.” The observers were able to see her skeleton, to tell the density of her bones, to know that she was a healthy woman about 30 years of age, to count the layers of linen wrapping her body, and even to see that one ear was folded a bit as the fabric was wrapped around her head. The accompanying exhibit explored the lifestyle of women in Ancient Egypt and displayed many objects from the museum’s collection that date back to that time. The stories on the descriptive panels were fascinating, and I came away thinking that the art of 3,000 years ago is not so different from our art today. I suppose there’s a huge difference between the found art of an archeologist and that of someone walking around the lake, but it’s all creative, and that’s what it’s all about.

The heron is gone. Whether fishing is not good today or he is called by a voice that we cannot hear, with wings spread, his long beak and neck outstretched and his legs flowing along behind, he draws a line just above and parallel to the surface of the water as he flies to a better place.

Bev Jackson Cotter is a member of the Albert Lea Art Center, where the artwork of Bonnie Wedge, Heidi Thompson, and Sara Aeikens will be on display through August.