On the hidden figures trail I got to see Beatrix Potter: Drawn to Nature at the V&A. Many grew up with her books — she is forever wrapped up in collective memory through Peter Rabbit, Jemima Puddleduck, Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle. I didn't know her from childhood, really discovering her in the rooms of the V&A.
Beyond being a children's book writer and illustrator, she was a scientist, a mycologist and a nature conservationist. Before diving into the anthropomorphised worlds of her beloved characters, she and her brother turned their nursery into a scientific cabinet of curiosity — collecting, observing, cataloguing and dissecting. She eventually pursued her passion for fungi, studying, illustrating and writing papers about them. She applied to the Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew and was rejected because she was a woman. She presented her paper on the germination of spores at the Linnaean Society, but had to have her uncle present it, because women were barred from attending.
Had she not faced rejection and obstacle from the world of science, we might never have had the legacy of her brilliant imagination.
That legacy taught children to think about the natural world as a living thing — the foundation of sustainability — with its symbiotic and predatory relationships. She taught us to see things differently and look beyond the surface of observation. She taught us about the fragility of nature and how we live within interconnected ecosystems. She had to self-publish her first books because no publisher wanted her. She teaches us also about entrepreneurship and perseverance.
Her other legacy was the preservation of nature. Using her independent means, she slowly bought lands and farms in the Lake District to protect them from developers, breeding and preserving native breeds. To her, the natural world was alive far beyond the pages of her books — and she kept it alive for us. She showed us how we can use our voices and our privilege to have influence and impact that carries a purpose beyond profit.
She was also a very savvy businesswoman who understood the power of her brand and her market. The V&A did a wonderful job portraying all of that.
As I was immersed in the cabinet of curiosity, a baby was playing with the cabinet drawers. She hit her head. The expected crying ensued. She wordlessly tried to reprimand the cabinet by wagging her finger at it with all the energy of a disappointed playmate. A curator witnessed the incident and spoke to the mother and the baby girl to understand how to fix and improve the experience. The baby girl pointed at the corner, making her disapproval perfectly clear. In that moment, the V&A embodied the spirit of Beatrix Potter herself — showing that even within fixed systems, it is all about the experience, and that the invisible voices are the ones most worth listening to.