eco-gazing

What is life, if full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare? (William Henry Davies)

Good question. We should make time. The variable weather at the moment gives plenty of opportunity to experience the widest range of physical conditions. Why should we make time? Standing, staring, gazing and wondering are not passive states. They are interactive. They require one to confront the way things are. They can lead us to an enhanced sense of well-being, that we belong in the natural realm.  In an article entitled "The healing touch of the wild" for Positive News psychotherapist Hetti Dysch concludes with the sentence 'Helping us to reconnect individually and culturally,wilderness therapy invites us to get to know our landscape and inspires communities to be guided by the blueprint of sustainability and interdependence that nature reveals.' For me, it's a way of triangulating current situations.

This morning I was watching and sensing the interaction of wind and flow on the river water. This was time, the river and my presence creating a moment. Having learnt and practised meditation techniques intermittently, I knew that I could change my level of consciousness. Apparent emptiness could be filled if I allowed the river in. With concentration, I can hold on to what I consider to be a deeper level of consciousness for a while, so turned my attention to the trunk of a tree.

As so often before, once I had started to draw, I became part of what I was observing. The drawing is only an exercise in observation; an aid to understanding. And although I don't set-out to create a drawing that becomes something that might have its own value as an end-product, the desire to create something beautiful does, nevertheless, play a part. By something beautiful, I think I mean something that attempts to communicate or express some human emotion. I was drawn to draw this particular tree trunk by some very raw sensibilities, such as the raw sexual attraction of an orifice and of the released binding from a wire fence. Making the drawing was so very different from taking a photograph and later manipulating it, as I had done two days' previously:

I took this image on my way to the top of Noonstones Hill, from where I could experience the effects of the weather at different altitudes. Also the image below.

From the summit I took this image of Yad Moss. I think it speaks for itself. I was not inclined to interfere with it in any way.

The point I'm trying to make is that meanings and values seem to come to the surface just by gazing. I guess it could be at anything - or anyone - that you love. It seems to reinforce that love. Just as lovers gaze at each other, just as a mother gazes at her baby and the baby gazes back. They and we are a part of each other, and sense a fullness by our belonging. A love of the fullness of life and the way that we are part of that fullness may help us to break our addiction to consumerism. If that's so, maybe we should do it more? And if that's so, I'll give the activity a name. I'll call it eco-gazing.

shape-shifting

In this winter's quieter moments, there's the chance to draw. It's a great excuse to just gaze as well, and just to wonder at how the material world is as it is. The more I gaze, the more I wonder,and the more I wonder the more I wander - into the realm of fantasy and fable. Below is part of a longer panel around the idea of the Celtic tree-spirit, Leannan si. I'm playing with ideas such as these at Celtashgill, my new Wondercelt blog.

Running water, cold air and rocks collaborate and create fantastic forms of ice, turning unremarkable gills into remarkable wonderlands.

Ice grows its crystals across glass, along twigs and around the edges of foliage, leaving another lexicon of shapes from which to draw.

rain hammer

October shelter

 The rain continues to hammer down on the already sodden earth. It seems to embed vegetation in some spots and expose new seams and deepen tiny crevasses in others. The combination of wind and rain makes the 'shelter' an heroic misnomer. What remains is a stubborn skeleton of jutting fragments of wood.

Midlands Sea

out of shot

The guns were out a few days' ago, heralding the start of the shooting season. By the sound of it, there was a drive not far from the shelter, so when I went up yesterday late afternoon I was half expecting to find some damage. Thankfully there was none. It was quiet; Cross Fell was slightly misty set against a milky sky. No strong shadows or distant colours. The ground and the air smelt fresh, more savoury than sweet. This evening seemed more masculine than feminine.

I took some time observing the tree/earth/water interface and made some colour exercises. Having chosen not to bring my camera, I was forced away from the comfort of the lens and the instant image. I'm beginning to find that observation without drawing, although a lot less intensive, is still a valuable exercise and informs my practice back home, as illustrated in these paintings above and below. Visual memory is an important attribute for a visual artist, but it's one that needs regular exercise, particularly with age.

As I lay in the hammock looking up at the trees against the sky, two kestrels flew into sight embroiled in a mid-flight argument. One settled on the branch immediately above me. I wasn't keeping particularly still and the bird paid me no attention, and although I was slightly concerned that I was in line-of-fire if it chose to release its bowels, it did feel a privilege to be sharing the same environment so easily. It stayed for several minutes. I played the strings of the hammock and I could feel the vibrations run through both trees. I'm sure the bird would have felt them. The thought struck me that I could record these and other sounds and assemble them into a digital composition. It would be another way of expressing the harmony that I often experience here.

I attempted some more drawing, but the strength of the sun had waned as the evening came, and without a wind the midges were feeding on my face and upper torso. They were such a distraction that I gave-up, packed-up and walked home with my ears burning and my wrists and elbows itching.