There is something quite special about working by the stream. I enjoyed sitting there and picking apart my thoughts about the landscape and it’s boundaries. I had been thinking about boundaries as a notion contracted by man. Questioning whether they really do exist outside of the mind. The edge of a plot of land may be marked on a map, but physically- other than signs or markers, they are not really a physical thing; are they? We stick to the paths that we are told we are allowed to follow, but there is nothing really stopping us from crossing the perceived boundary. This all felt very relevant, especially with the constant images of tragedy imposed by borders with the current refugee crisis. Why do we hold on to our borders in spite of the harm that it causes others?
As I sat under the tree that had become ‘my’ tree, (I had sat with this tree every day throughout my residency) I realised that although I wasn’t in fact sat on my land, I had developed a sense of ownership. This space, through invested time had become my space. I felt territorial about it- particularly with the tree. It is a grand old Oak tree and so with my romantic view of trees I felt that it was some kind of guardian. It stands on the edge of the stream, which marks the boundary of the farm; and so I wonder how the tree, through it’s hundreds of years of life, has witnessed the movement of these boundaries. This relationship I had built with this tree was one built out of repetition of action. It reminded me of a previous work of mine in which the repeated daily visit of a tree became a pilgrimage for me. The tree became a site of meditation, and I realise that this was relevant in what I was doing here alongside the stream. Recognising this connection I felt that I had to use this tree as a site to explore these thoughts. The bark of the tree was thick and chunky. The deep cracks reminded me of stretch marks! Marked as a result of growth, which is as a result of action- just like the stretch marks of the body. Growth in the form of the physical and of the experiential. They then seems to me to be like a map, full of boundaries and edges.
How could I work with this? I thought about my walk to the tree. I had to pass through a field of sheep, and I always liked to notice how the boundaries of the field had been marked by the sheep’s wool. I like how this was a marker for an action. The rubbing of the sheep with an itch against the fence; the fence as a net that catches the wool that was temporarily in flight whilst riding the wind. These actions that despite me not witnessing, they happened in my mind; and that was recalled every time I saw the wool on the wire.
I thought about how this could work as a material to combine with the bark of the tree- it would speak of an action, but instead of a sheep rubbing itself on the fence it would be me placing it in the bark of the old Oak tree. It would suggest the action of me visiting, selecting and placing, bringing the presence of man (well, woman!) into the mind of the viewer, and also recognising the tree which has stood for hundreds of years. It is symbolic for time gone by. It is a historical marker.
I struggled to place the items back in the landscape. The process of collecting and painting had become a ‘thing’ in itself, and so when it came to placing such jarring colours into this site which had provided me with a calm respite from the constant stream of visitors, (which is wonderful but sometimes some space alone with your thoughts is needed!!) I think I was startled into doubting whether this was actually an appropriate thing to be doing. No matter where I placed the stones it just didn’t seem to feel right or make any sense at all. It felt like I was placing with no real consideration for why.
Why was I doing this really? I had placed the stones in piles of mixed colour, I had scattered them along the banks on both sides of the stream, but it was starting to feel like I was creating a strange cartoon-like scene, (which I really wasn’t). I sat for a while and allowed my thoughts to settle. The thought of man attempting to create order and control in the landscape came back to me. This was a concept that started my explorations within the landscape and so it seemed appropriate to use this when placing the stones. I decided to order the stones by size. Laying them out in a straight line, the two colours separated. As soon as I did this they seemed to have strength that was missing when they were piled or scattered. They commanded the space and stood out for their unnatural placement as well as unnatural colour. I like how they direct the eye to the boundary of the farm, marked by an electric fence. They lay alongside the edge of the stream, a waterway- which is often regarded as markers andboundaries within the landscape. There is a stillness to the stones when placed in a line, they cut through the view. They don’t overpower the view, but they are not engulfed in the immenseness of the land. I wonder whether they would look better if they were a single colour, but I like that there is a duality. It seems to highlight the notion of a boundary. The here and there, mine and yours. A boundary implied by difference.
My first step was to walk. For some reason the thoughts flow easier when walking. The process of the development of thoughts seems more fluid when the body is in the repetitive action of one foot in front of the other. The Sidney Nolan Trust is based at a 250 acre organic farm called The Rodd and it is set within the beautiful hilly landscape of the Welsh border town Presteigne. As I moved through the landscape, which is similar to the landscape where I live, I contemplated how it is manipulated by man. The battle for man to try to create order in nature to benefit agricultural farming. This ideal picture postcard vista is one that has been manipulated for hundreds years. I realise as I type that the word ‘manipulated’ could be perceived to be negative; but this is not how it is intended. It is hugely impressive to stand within these vast surroundings, whilst recognising man’s ability to work the land. It sounds so obvious as I write it, but I think that it is quite easy to take this for granted. Particularly as this is often a landscape witnessed whilst in motion, travelling from A to B, (for the non farmers amongst us!). There is also a romantic view of this landscape that is that we are looking at a natural landscape- and so whilst looking through these rose tinted glasses we are in fact removing man completely from the picture. This myth of the untouched land diminishes our connection to the land by removing man from it. And so, it is this strange connection that intrigues me.
In response to this I decided to do a series of small interventions within the landscape. I decided to collect stones and fallen wood from alongside a stream that runs through the site. I intended to paint these objects using bold man made colours that would interrupt the view. The bold unnatural colours would bring the human presence to the forefront of the mind of anyone who would encounter them. I find that my experience of this landscape is that I usually view it whilst walking or driving through it, and so it is seen as a continuous vista. The problem with this is that little time is spent standing still and noticing the detail. By disturbing the view with my small interventions I hope that attention will be drawn away from the path and down to the finer detail.
I realise through the act of collection, painting and returning these objects I am developing a connection to the landscape. It becomes a pilgrimage which thrives on the investment of my time in the space. The more I move between the site and the courtyard space I have been painting in, the more I feel a connection to the environment I am working in and also the objects I am working with. Through this experience I am drawing thoughts and connections which help me to better understand the concepts I am exploring- maybe it is the experience of the repeated journey and action?
I have been in residence since 11th September and have been so busy that I haven’t been able to get this blog up and running until today. As my residency co-incides with h.Art week there is a constant stream of visitors looking at the current exhibition, who also come to visit me in my wonderful space to discuss how I am responding to this amazing agricultural landscape. Conversations have been diverse and engaging, which has been fantastic. But, getting a blog up and running to document this process is important for two reasons. Firstly, I am hoping that it can be a place for people to keep track of what I am doing as my installations are out in the landscape, and not necessarily accessible to all who come. Secondly this is my first residency, and I expect it to be a valuable experience from which I expect to learn a lot!
I came to this residency with the intention of arriving with no pre-conceived idea of how I would respond or what I would make. I decided that being in this immersive landscape would provide an ideal opportunity for me to take myself out of my comfort zone and I would make my responses in whatever way seems appropriate at that moment in time. I usually like to have an anchor point- somewhere to start from, but it is my hope that this openness will encourage my exploration of the site and also allow for me to develop a connection to the site through my interventions. I have decided that as it is only a week long residency I don’t really have enough time to really sit, contemplate and interrogate my thoughts. I am a thinker, and so to respond immediately is scary to me. Particularly as I am faced with the public pretty much continuously throughout my time here. The idea of making mistakes with an audience kept me awake for the night before I started! I suppose it feels unnatural to me to make with the audience so immediate. Usually I am in the studio, exploring and using my work as research with the notion of a ‘final piece’ far from my mind; but whilst here and working in front of the public the question on everyone’s lips is always, ‘What are you going to make / do?’ I worry that they think I am being quite vague when giving my answer- but I am trying to remove myself from the feeling that I need to fill a space. I suppose my main intention is to document my experience of the landscape throughout my week here.
