Reflected that on my recent walks I’d increased the amount of material I had to process, the act of taking a photograph, rather than making a drawing, meant that I covered more ground, engaged less deeply with each piece I found, and amassed a large amount of material to process back in the studio. The processing then meant I had less time in the forest, less time to experience and engage with nature.
Hamish Fulton walks many miles presenting glimpses for gallery audiences, a walk stripped to a single photograph or drawing, the power being the idea in the mind of the audience of his walking, his experience.
“A walk has a life of it’s own and does not need to be materialised into an artwork”-Hamish Fulton
I often think about material process, but to what degree should this matter if the aim is about engaging with nature? How can a walk be a drawing?
Observed the yews on the slopes, the root pull and ways that roots grow into the soil by looking at the upturned trees and above the soil. Yew roots on the slopes trail and ribbon more than the yews on the flat. Ground colour – all brown with patches of bright green moss.
Pieces of metal found, the tail of a missile, a rusted screw with three washers. The Canadians used the site for bomb practice in the war. Shrapnel and bombs are often found here.
New tree growth, a few centimetres high, I walk carefully.
Colder day.
Return to the same site I was rained off yesterday.
Questioned the material to use for drawings that would bring out the feral voice, reduce inhibition in intuitive drawing. Chose charcoal, questioned whether it would feasible to draw with charcoal on the trees bearing in mind the directive from Natural England. How can an artist work with nature in a controlled and respectful way? Reflected on Tania Kovats installation at the Natural History Museum where a 200 year old oak was felled and a number of saplings planted in a managed woodland.
I found myself at the same oak discovered yesterday.
The act of drawing begins with being still and quiet.
Whilst drawing the oak am aware of the marks, how my body feels sat against a yew, the lines of the branches and roots.
Drawing is giving me an excuse to sit in silence amongst the trees.
Consider how the nature of the tree growth reflects its response to the environment, the oaks roots are above ground, now covered in moss, underneath a yew has been upturned lifting the oaks roots which have also saved the yew from reaching the ground. This is a story.
Compare this to human life, responding to environment, sharing the impacts presented.
The difference being the ability to choose.
How much has the coping response of the trees affected their ability to thrive in later life?
How much as the coping strategy of a child inhibited their ability as an adult to thrive?
If the oak were to have a voice what would it be?
My intuitive response I record as audio, it begins with a description of the tree form and behavioural appearance to surrounding trees, but what comes out is cliche, light-hearted, and when I play this back it feels wrong, like Johnny Morris, mockingly representative. In the past I’ve found that cliche means too much detail, so think about abstraction.
Walking recording the voice has more energy and fierceness.
Consider material process and engagement, movement through the landscape.
Draw in the dark yews on the left.
With charcoal draw the yews as layers of dark boughs out of which two people face each other. The marks match the energy and fierceness of the walk.
How can setting out drawing strategies to engage with the landscape be similar to setting out relationship strategies to engage with other people?
What about sharing a meal with a tree?
Walking around a person, or remaining completely stationary in a crowd?
I return to my studio and for some unknown reason I write with a blood-red pigment pastel on a large sheet of newsprint one word:
shame.
