In April 2020, during lockdown, I made a photographic record of the growth patterns of 20 oak saplings, just as they began to burst into leaf. All the saplings were grown from acorns planted in October 2015, and had reached between approximately 50 cms and 200 cms in height.

I photographed each one from directly overhead, using a mask of white card to block out unwanted details, and isolate each sapling’s spatial form. I aimed to capture a range of radiating growth structures.

The process allowed me to document some of the infinite permutations of branch patterns produced as young trees grow, reach up and out, positioning their leaves to capture the light. I saw how each individual sapling’s sensate nature, caused them to respond to their situation/environment, and  grow completely unique structures.

Examples below:

Reduced to two-dimensions, the sapling growth patterns appeared poised, animate, energised and characterful. I began to see their geometry as an expressive, nonverbal ‘script’.

Later, I began a process of translation by marking connections and geometries that I perceived, using simple digital technique. I responded intuitively, without preconception, to the saplings’ communicative aesthetic, allowing the branching structures to direct the compositions.

 

The extent of the death toll attributed to Covid 19 is being determined by various methods of registering and collecting data. On this day as I write, it’s been calculated that there have been between 50,000 and 65,000 Covid related deaths in the UK alone. Global deaths to date, are thought to be in excess of 1,300,000.

What do the numbers and data visualisation charts communicated to us via the media, actually mean? How do we begin to fully understand their impact, to make sense of tragedy. How will we gauge what changes or adaptions will be needed to our individual and communal ways of life? How do we make sense of the pandemic?

Since the outset, I’ve experienced the clinical rationality of statistics as  a limiting, narrow measure of human experience. This form of data disregards the reality of emotions: fear, grief, anger, helplessness. Seen only in stark isolation, and by non-scientists, the numbers can form a block, a cul-de-sac, rather than a bridge to understanding. So to aid my own progress in this, I felt the need for an expressive act – a personal ceremony with potential to acknowledge communal tragedy. So many loved ones suddenly gone.

A view of Avenham Park and the river Ribble.

Through my work as an art and design practitioner, teacher and researcher, I am aware of art and craft practice as methods not just of making artworks or objects, for sale or reproduction, but as contemplative, embodied practices in their own right. In particular, I see their potential as viable methods of communing with the ‘more-than-human world’. David Abram* coined this phrase in his book ‘The Spell of the Sensuous’ to contend with the false dichotomy he sees between ‘nature’ and ‘culture’, and to describe the subtle dependence of human cognition on the natural world.

Anthropological studies of indigenous peoples have used the term ‘animism’ to encompass beliefs that there is no separation between the spiritual and physical (or material) world, and that souls or spirits exist not only in humans but also in other animals, in plants, rocks, landscape features such as mountains or rivers, or other entities of the natural environment, including thunder, wind, shadows – and trees. By taking up this focus, I’ve been able to learn of the growing understanding throughout the world that ecological renewal and sustainability depend upon spiritual awareness and an attitude of respect and responsibility towards the Earth.

During a visit to Japan, I saw ancient temples and their beautiful garden settings. These introduced me to aspects of Japanese belief systems and relationships with nature. I learnt of the art of impermanence, ‘wabi sabi’, a concept from Japanese aesthetics, which sees beauty in imperfection and simplicity and accepts the transient nature of all things. Other sources of inspiration have been the works of UK artists Andy Goldsworthy and Richard Long.

My tools: leaf rake and circle measure.

Over the last 6 years or so, I’ve been exploring methods that can stimulate and channel authentic sensory experiences, to rediscover a symbiotic relationship with animate nature. For myself, as well as for others.

In late October and early November 2020, I worked alone (seperately to the Winckley Square collaborative activity, see earlier post), to make a series of ‘ephemeral memorials’ throughout the public, open spaces of Preston’s city centre parks.

In these simple interventions (see images of 4 examples below), I measured and marked out a two metre diameter circle in the centre of the densest area of leaf fall, under particularly beautiful trees. Then I removed the fallen leaves that made up the random pattern of overlapping layers, from within each circle.

Two Metres

Site 1, Winckley Square

The two metre diameter was my reference to the ‘safe’ space afforded to a person, by Covid science.

After the physical exertion of making, I sat a while each time, tuning in to the mournful autumnal atmosphere, making connections to my surroundings. I felt the river flowing through, the lyrical shifts of light and shadow, listened to the voices of birds, saw their flight across clouds, and the dark soil of molehills. I sensed the metaphorical connections to pathways winding away into the distance, heard the wind rustling through the branches of trees, smelt the earthy scent of fallen leaves. And I saw people passing by, living their lives.

Two Metres, site 2, Winckley Square 

For me, this simple action was more than only symbolic. It brought the shock and sense of absence that follow loss, out into the open. By using the actions of my body and its senses, I made these emotions visible, tangible and material.

Two Metres, site 3, Avenham Park

Later, I returned to the sites to see how the shapes had covered over, or blurred. On some days the circles even re-appeared slightly, because the wind had moved the top layer of most recently fallen leaves. Intriguingly, the circles were often more visible from a distance: the subtle disruption to the texture of leaf fall, more detectable from afar.

I found it insightful to witness this lessening of the presence of absence. I felt I’d made a connection to the Earth’s living system, to the more-than-human-world, through my simple ceremony. This seemed a more meaningful way to pay my respects in response to loss, than the bewildering reductionism of statistics. Although it might appear a contradiction to link remembrance with the ephemeral, I found the paradox echoed the fleeting qualities of memory, and the role played by the passage of time in the interplay between remembering and forgetting. Of acceptance and healing.

Two Metres, site 4, Avenham Park

And in my mind, the circles will always be there, marked by each beautiful tree.

The constant intrusion of science, politics, quantitative data and the news media into every aspect of contemporary life, is inevitably unsatisfying and serves to highlight the extent of our disconnection from the natural world and how much this puts at risk. Covid is showing us that for all our technology, we humans understand so little and remain as vulnerable as ever.

But there are ways derived from art and craft practice, through which to find balance, recover, to accept change and continue to grow,

There is still much to learn from the Earth’s know-how, and many ways to do so.

 

Don’t think

Yourself nobody

Ceremony for the spirit

Matsuo Basho

1644-1694

*See more about David Abram and others, at the Alliance for Wild Ethics here

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I also used the memorial making process to remember and celebrate the lives of my parents, who survived many difficult times and experiences, with resilience and optimism.