Day 6
Today’s drizzle makes the going soggy. My channels are getting much shallower now so whilst I am having to snap the grass roots rather than dig then all up in one clump, the work feel like less of a challenge as there is less excess soil to be removed.
I discuss with Jonathan and Helen the practicalities of working with sandstone. Jonathan calls a geologist friend of his to ask his opinion. We are considering chipping a well into the top of a rock so a reservoir of water collects and then seeps through. I wonder, however, if it would evaporate before it even got a couple of inches down. It turns out that the stone in this area is so hard that a diamond drill bit would be needed to cut into the stone, and even then it is likely to split. This sounds all too familiar: for a previous project I decided I was quite capable of drilling holes into some sheets of glass with a diamond bit rather than pay to have it done professionally. After several days work all I had to show for my efforts was a large pile of smashed sheets and tears of frustration!
An amusing conversation follows, suggesting various inelegant ways in which the project could manifest successfully and I realise there is a danger of the work turning into something not far off from a science experiment, especially since the idea is in such an elementary stage, without clear intention.
Just before sunset, mist coats the hills in cobweb-like drapes and I spend some time trudging about with my camera shooting a bathtub sheepdip in the field behind the chalet.
Rona Smith
Day 5
Jonathan and I head out in the car on another soil collection trip. The road winds through the rising and falling land in a charmingly indecisive manner. The views of the hills are lovely and we snap photos from the car window. We arrive at our destination and hastily shovel soil into shopping bags lest the authorities catch us digging up the landscape. I hadn’t realised quite how much earth I was going to need until I observed the rapidly growing mountain of original soil that I’d turfed out from my trenches.
Back at the chalet. another curious local stops by to enquire after my apparently pointless activities. I explain what Im doing, not really giving much away due to my limited vocabulary. He looks at me with a quizzical expression then asks tentatively, ‘c’est tout?’ Yep that’s all! There’s an almost apologetic note in my voice, and regretting that I am unable to conjure up some sort of elaborate gazebo to appease him, I busy myself with the trowel.
Whilst the current cold weather slows me down a little, I am working at a steady pace and I think I may be finished by the weekend. This will leave me a few days to experiment with some other materials. I discuss with Jonathan an idea I have had inspired by a passage in the novel I am reading, Love In The Time Of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Set in a cholera ravaged Carribean island, the protagonist describes the family’s typical stone water filter that fail to purify drinking water and stop the spread of disease. There is a fair amount of sandstone in the area. I would like to experiment with the possibilities of ‘filtering’ or channelling water through slabs of the stone. It remains to be seen however whether this is possible or at all practical.
Rona Smith
Day 3
The morning frost melts rapidly under a glorious, cloudless sky. My string line has left a paper-thin frost free stencil across the grass which I follow with the spade. Tonight I will set this up purposefully for the following morning. The day is spent measuring, aligning and digging. I have begun with the deepest trench, it is hard work but satisfying and I am glad of the exercise. I discover that after cutting down with a spade, strips of earth can be peeled out of the ground like great caterpillars.
A local shepherdess who I met briefly the other day leads her sheep into the neighbouring field and pauses to ask me what Im doing. I rack my brains for remnants of GCSE French and begin by telling her I’m an artist – as if that explains everything. I manage to muster up a few comments concerning ‘la terre rouge’ and coupled with some meaningful hand gestures she seems satisfied, if a little bemused. By the end of the day I have dug two and a half trenches and half filled one of them. If I knew I was going to be spending the 1st of December in a vest top I would have brought my bikini.
Importantly for me, this project is a new one. Whilst it naturally relates to ongoing themes in my work, for example organic processes, evidence of passing time and responses to minimalism, this is my first installation piece to be completed outside and to respond to the elements in such a way.
I am interested in the faith that is required of the viewer when seeing this work after it has just been completed: for the first few months, the red lines in the ground will all appear identical and it is only until they begin to change and degrade that it becomes apparent they are of varying dimensions. The dramatic difference between the structure of the lines happens underground and initially out of sight.
Rona Smith
Day 2
This morning I have a local herd of sheep for company. They efficiently finish off yesterday’s mowing job by chomping sagely through the grass.
I am planning to cut a series of narrow channels into the ground and fill them with red soil that I am collecting from the surrounding hills. The channels will be of varying depths: the first being six or so inches, the second slightly shallower and so on until the grass is barely disturbed. I anticipate the deeper, more substantial channels of earth to remain intact and in place for the longest.
My intention is to create a slowly evolving time-based piece in which one by one the lines of earth are dislodged, degraded or blown away according to their depth. I have chosen to keep the formation of these lines very simple, in part because the undulating ground itself provides organic curves and irregular shapes, but also because the straighter and cleaner these channels are now, the more noticeable the changes will be over the coming year.
The shed behind the chalet is home to a wealth of garden tools, most of them familiar, a couple distinctly medieval looking. One grizzly item in the corner looks like an experiment in primitive dentistry. Whether you are clawing, scooping or gouging there is something appropriate to be found here. I begin on the ground with a miniature, serrated saw that resembles a bread knife: it barely dents the surface. Reminding myself that I am not cutting into the springy bed of a Victoria sponge but a semi-frozen patch of land at 600m altitude in the middle of winter, I abandon this characterful although largely useless tool and opt for a trusty spade instead, sharpened with a flint. Within a couple of hours the four layers I was wearing are in a heap next to me, several colonies of worms have been invaded and a fair start has been made.
Jonathan and I go to collect a batch of earth. It is not until we are about to exit the car that Jonathan casually informs me hunting is permitted here at the weekends and those shrill whistles we can hear getting louder by the second are a call to the hounds. I rapidly shovel up soil whilst imaginary bullets zip past my ears and comfort myself with the notion that dying for one’s artistic endeavours is horribly clichéd and therefore cant possibly happen in real life.
Rona Smith
Day 1
Drawing back the curtains of my chalet window I blink at the luminous white landscape in front of me. Whilst delighted at the beauty of the scene (worthy of even the most ostentatious Christmas card) my plans to work on the ground seem somewhat threatened. This is my first morning in St Louis, about an hour’s drive from Perpignan on the edge of the French Pyrenees. I will be staying here for a two week residency working in the surrounding land.
Rather than spend the morning crunching around willing the snow to melt, I explore the area a little with Jonathan who lives and works here from his studio. I have purposefully arrived without materials, looking to use what is already here. I am keen to work with some of the striking red earth that makes up large areas of the local landscape. Jonathan and I begin the day by driving a short distance to collect some samples of its various shades, ranging from rhubarb crumble to Australian outback. I want to embed this earth into the grassy land surrounding the chalet for a time-based work which I anticipate changing slowly with the weather over the coming months and hopefully years. Details of this will follow.
We visit the pretty Rennes-le-Château where we examine a plethora of literature based on some lengthy speculations about hidden local treasure. It is very attractive to believe that this is a place rich in mystery, esoteria and secret societies as many excited historians would have you believe. It is equally conceivable however that thin rumours based on the acquired wealth of a certain 19th century priest have blown quite out of proportion and led to the various colourful claims that have been made concerning Templar Knights and the Holy Grail. Perhaps your level of sympathy with authors such as Dan Brown will decide!
On arrival back at the chalet the land is transformed by the sun. As quickly as the snow arrived, it has now vanished like a receding tide. I select a wide patch of turf to work with. Due to some regular nocturnal visitors this is largely based on how mole infested the grass has become over the last month or so. The smoothest area, which I spend the rest of the afternoon mowing, is just between the road and the chalet.
Helen and Jonathan have a truly wonderful home and workspace here. There are purple headed peaks in the distance, my breeze-blocked Hackney Wick studio is miles away and the silence is delicious.
Rona Smith
