Illuminations

March 19, 2019

My exhibition with Sally Tyrie last year, Reflections & Revelations, marked the end of a two year project based at Wicken Fen. Sally and I were keen to work together again, but decided against another site-based project. The previous project revolved around a series of shared visits to the Fen while we developed the work separately, in our own studios. This time we have shifted the focus to our studio process. I have worked in Sally’s studio, trialling some of her processes, and she has worked in mine. We have made research visits to places together, but have also visited the same, or other places, individually. There are very few ground rules and the project is evolving as we work. We did not determine a theme at the start so it has been interesting to see how some common ground and areas of enquiry are nonetheless emerging from our investigations

Illuminations is not the final exhibition in this project. It represents a stage in our evolving collaboration. It is as much an opportunity for us to test out ideas for ourselves as to show finished work. Given the nature of this approach, it’s fitting that the venue for the exhibition is the gallery / project space area of Digswell Arts’ artist studios.

We will be showing photography and mixed media and plan that it will be as much an installation as an exhibition. We will be working part of the time in the space and adding to the work as we go.

Sally has written a couple of blogposts about some of our studio work on her blog here and here. Our plan is to work towards a series of exhibitions in 2019, for which we will publish details nearer the time.

Revisiting Hidden

April 27, 2018

Sally and I de-installed Hidden yesterday with mixed feelings. It was a beautiful day at Wicken Fen and we enjoyed seeing how the work had been affected by almost a month exposed to the environment of the hides. We photographed the work before we took it down. Paper had buckled, wrinkled and come loose. Rain had left water marks. Sunlight had faded exposed areas and altered colours. We found insects sheltering in folds or layers. And spiders had built their webs around and behind the work. It was beginning the process of becoming part of the fabric of the hide and it would have been fascinating to leave it there.

It was a bright, windy day and we were distracted by the effects of sunlight flickering through the holes in the walls of the hides. In Charlie’s Hide we stood for some time, filming one flickering sunspot on a piece of painted acetate we had taken down and laid on a bench. Sally filmed it flickering like a flame on the palm of my hand. In East Mere hide I photographed the patterns made by the sunlight shining through cracks and gaps in the walls.

Taking down the installations marks the end of this project. But not the end of our collaboration. It’s time to pause and take stock but we are thinking about the next phase.

In the meantime, we both have other projects. Sally will be teaching for FibreArts Australia in July. Some of my work from the exhibition in Ely will be included in Bircham Gallery’s Spring exhibition starting on 19 May. And a separate group of work, Thorn, will be going to Gallery 57 in Arundel for A contour, a curve - the lie of the land.

Reflections

March 4, 2018

First, some extracts from my notes:

Reflection. Noun.

The throwing back by a body or surface of light, heat or sound without absorbing it.
Serious thought or consideration
An idea about something
An image seen in a mirror or shiny surface
A thing that is in consequence of something else

The physical law of reflection states that the angle of incidence equals the angle of reflection - if a wave hits the surface at 36°, it will be reflected at 36°. When light waves hit smooth surfaces the waves are reflected uniformly and can form images. Rough surfaces, such as moving water, scatter light in all directions – but each tiny bit of the surface still follows the rule that the angle of incidence equals the angle of reflection.

When light hits a surface, one of three things may happen:

It is absorbed by the surface
It passes through the surface to the other side
It is reflected back.

Materials may show a mix of these behaviours, with a proportion of light being absorbed, transmitted or reflected according to the properties of the material. If light waves strike the surface head on, i.e. at 90°, they will go straight through and come out the other side. There is a critical angle at which light will no longer pass through the surface but be reflected.

An image in a flat mirror:

is the same distance behind the mirror as the object is in front
is the same size as the object
is the right way up
is reversed
is virtual – it appears to be behind the mirror.

Symbolism:

The word mirror comes from Latin mirari – to wonder or marvel at. The Latin word for mirror, speculum, is related to the verb to speculate.
Many beliefs associate mirrors with a capacity to reveal the essential nature of a thing – its hidden or potential qualities.
Self-knowledge – what we see may depend on our receptiveness or resistance to the insights offered.
The sense that beyond the mirror-image of immediate reality might be something quite different.
Passivity – the surface reflects the thing but is unchanged by it.

So where does this get me ...

There is something about the image cast on the surface of the water, but not being part of the water. The image can be very distinct but is unreal, insubstantial, ephemeral. It is disrupted by any movement of the water or change in the light. Plants growing in the water cover or pierce it, disrupting your sense of figure and ground. It is a reversal of reality. It is a trace that cannot exist without the object it reflects but has no physical substance of its own. And yet, on the fen, it can sometimes present you with a clearer view of the things edging the water.

The aesthetic appeal is that the reflection is an abstracted image – a partial and distorted view of the original. A sort of drawing on the water. The reflections I've observed at Wicken covered the full range of clarity from clear, sharp image through every shade of fragmentation to a formless blur that is little more than a green shadow. It is interesting that reflections are traditionally associated both with deception and with a capacity to reveal the truth or hidden qualities of a thing. There is also something about indirect knowledge – many scientific measurements have to be taken indirectly – you get around the impossibility of measuring the thing itself by measuring its echoes or reflections in sound or light waves. Like this recent example. You know the thing by looking at its reflection

I photographed hundreds of reflections on our visits. It sometimes made for slow progress along the lodes or drainage ditches when the conditions were particularly good for this. These photographs have become the basis for much of my work for the exhibition. Reeds or rushes dominate because they are what is most often reflected. But the variety of marks and forms I collected is significant.

Initially I chose some of the clearer and more realistic images, but used printing techniques that introduced distortion. Later I introduced more distorted images that are more obviously reflections. The fragmentation and dissolution of the form reflected in the surface create a pleasing ambiguity. The resulting work is the most figurative I have ever made; but is constructed entirely from abstractions, reflections, rather than images of the reeds themselves.

Work in progress Helen Terry Feb2018.jpg

Wicken Fen: fifth visit

February 25, 2017

Sally and I squeezed in another visit to the Fen last weekend. A shorter visit than our previous ones but we are keen to make the most of what remains of the winter. The weather was duller than had been forecast but at least it was mild.

The Workshop attached to the Fenman’s Cottage was open and so we went in to explore. The 18th century cottage was inhabited until the 1970s when the National Trust acquired it as a rare survival of a vernacular Fenland building. The workshop was filled with tools and examples of Fenland crafts. Tucked amongst all these were a collection of animal skulls and, bizarrely, a stuffed mole poking its head out of an enamel mug.

It was hard to take good photographs in the low light without a tripod. Sally and I were drawn to the collection of old photographs pinned to one of the walls. The photos were faded, speckled and curled with age. We were interested in what this did to the images.

Constrained for time, we headed towards Baker’s Fen which was less busy than the main part of the reserve. This time I was concentrating on the colours of the fen. On this overcast February day, the overall impression was paleness. Bleached reeds, withered leaves, silver water. The reeds have a warm red undertone but everything else is a cold grey. A pile of freshly cut willow on the other hand was blue-green and rust. A short-eared owl glided over the reeds, stopping us in our tracks. Its feathers matched the fen.

I deliberately over-exposed some of my photographs. This exaggerated the paleness, removed detail and created more abstract images. The results remind me of the faded photographs in the fenman’s workshop.

Abstract Fen-Wicken Fen-Helen Terry February2017

Abstract branches-Wicken Fen-Helen Terry-February2017

Mirrored view: Wicken Fen project August 2016 Helen Terry

Wicken Fen: third visit

September 4, 2016

Sally and I made another visit to Wicken Fen earlier this week on what turned out to be an uncomfortably hot day. There is little natural shade, there was virtually no breeze and, although the hides provided some shelter, as well as being hot they were also stuffy! Not the most comfortable conditions for our third research visit, but we did our best and stayed until evening, drawing and taking photographs. By 7pm the light was glorious and golden … and the heat was finally relenting.

Wicken Fen at early evening. August 2016. Helen Terry

The Fen is still overwhelmingly green. The reeds and sedge have grown up above our heads in places so you cannot see over but are left to peer through. The leaves on the willow, alder, birch and hawthorn look dull and tired. To me, all this foliage is a barrier – it conceals the underlying structure and I find it rather uninteresting. I am impatient to see the leaves off the trees and all the greys and browns of late autumn and winter. But greenness is so characteristic of this place that I may need to make peace with it and see what I can do.

Wicken Fen hide. August 2016. Helen Terry

I don’t think I wrote about our second visit, but every time we’ve been so far, Sally and I seem to be drawn to the hides. We have been photographing through the holes in the walls and the slit windows. One hide has opaque plastic windows and partly conceals the view in a way that interests us. Other visitors were clearly bemused to find us kneeling on the floor pointing a camera at a hole in the wall or drawing what we could see through a closed window!

Opaque windows. Wicken Fen. August 2016. Helen Terry

I am interested in how the hides cause you to see the Fen in sections or fragments. Pursuing this idea I took a small mirror with me this time, propped it against the window and started photographing the reflection. What really interested me though was the juxtaposition of the reflection and the view through the window – and in some cases a secondary reflection in the window too. The result is a combination of landscape fragments that is definitely something to explore further.

Mirrored landscape. Wicken Fen. August 2016. Helen Terry

Mirrored tree. Wicken Fen. August 2016. Helen Terry

From Clarke's Hide Wicken Fen June 2016 Helen Terry.jpg

Wicken Fen: a new project

June 19, 2016

I am very excited to be starting a new collaborative project with artist Sally Tyrie and on Friday we made an initial research visit to Wicken Fen. This is one of the National Trust’s oldest reserves (acquired in 1899) and one of the last remaining un-drained areas of the East Anglian fens. It is an exceptionally rich wetland habitat.

At this time of year, the dominant impression is greenness. The fen is a mass of tall sedges, grasses and reeds in brilliant emeralds and yellow greens, threaded through with traces of red and rust orange. Flashes of yellow, magenta, blue violet from the many marsh flowers – including orchids. It was gorgeous … but I am really looking forward to seeing the Fen in the winter when the green is bleached out and the underlying structures are exposed.

I’ve visited Wicken before but it was a long time ago and therefore it was like discovering the place afresh. There is that initial phase of orienting yourself within a place – finding your way around, noticing what you notice, what you choose to focus on. As ever, I was consistently drawn to details – marks and traces – reflections, linear marks, particularly of the reeds and sedges at the water’s edge.

But it’s interesting to experience a place with someone else – two pairs of eyes. Sally noticed things that I might have passed over – expanding my awareness, widening the range of things I noticed.

We were drawn to the hides – both the structures themselves and the experience of looking out of them. As well as the viewing hatches, many of them had random holes in the walls (Birds? Knot holes?). So there were lots of ways of looking out, looking through, peepholes, slits, cracks.

Worn and weathered plastic windows veiled and obscured the view – they simplified what you could see into shadowy outlines, veiling and obscuring as much as they revealed. –partial information, selective. My attention moved between the marks on the surface of the window itself and what you could see through it.

Marks on the surface and shadowy landscape beyond

(By the way my new “dream studio” is a wooden shed on stilts, with hatch windows and a good view … although maybe not for wet work.)

No preconceived ideas about what work might result but lots to think about. There will be more visits, visual research, drawing and thinking with a view to developing work for an exhibition sometime next year. So expect to be hearing more about the fens over coming months.

Visit Sally’s web site to see her work and follow her side of this collaboration.

The Broomway

May 15, 2016

What is it like to walk in emptiness? The wet sand reflecting the sky until the two seem to merge into one. Clouds moving across the ground. Vast. Luminous.

Horizons on every side. The edge of the land you've walked out from visible as a narrow, grey-green line ... but distant. The edge of the sea not visible, not audible, but always present in your awareness as the greatest source of danger all the time you are out on the sands. Ships moving slowly along an invisible channel. The coastline of a different county drawing a pale blue ridge line between the sand and sky.

Few sounds. The wind. A cuckoo calling on the mainland. A gull's scream overhead. The constant fizzle of the oozing sands. Feet splashing through water.

Small details that would normally be overlooked. Worm casts dot the sands as the water retreats. Tiny white crabs. A solitary Dunlin. Isolated poles. A broken breakwater drawing a charcoal line in the distance.

The Broomway is a public right of way over the foreshore at Maplin Sands off the coast of Essex. It runs for six miles along the Sands some 400 metres from the present shoreline. The track is extremely dangerous in misty weather as the incoming tide floods across the sands at high speed, and the water forms whirlpools because of flows from the River Crouch and the River Roach. Under such conditions the direction of the shore cannot be determined.

Like the similarly dangerous path across Morecambe Bay, the Broomway has a reputation as “the most perilous byway in England”. It owes this reputation to the disorienting nature of its environment in poor visibility and the near inevitability of death by drowning for anyone still out on the sands when the tide comes in. The Foulness Burial Register records 66 bodies recovered from the sands since 1600, which is only a fraction of the total who have drowned.

The Broomway was formerly marked by a series of markers resembling brooms, but is now unmarked. There is no actual track and access is restricted by the MoD.

Adapted from Wikipedia

More information about the Broomway

Guided walks along the Broomway: Nature Break Wildlife Cruises

Winter lines

December 13, 2015

New inspirations and ideas brewing.

I've said before that I like winter. The linear quality of bare branches. The subtle range of winter greys. The way everything is exposed and reduced to essentials.

One walk this weekend was initially really unpromising. Poor light, a cold wind and rain showers made photography difficult. But then I started focusing on the graphic qualities of the bare trees against the flat grey sky and I was away. I became interested in the different branch patterns, the edge of the tree line and the negative spaces.

On a different walk (with slightly better weather) the best part came towards dusk when we passed a lake. I loved the way the tree reflections were exaggerated and broken by the water.

Even as I was taking all these photographs, I was thinking about drawings - abstract, monochrome ones. I said this was prompting new ideas but in practice I was making connections to some old ones too. But then isn't that always how it is?

I shall be spending most of Christmas stitching new work. But I think some drawing might provide a useful contrast to this.

Found marks and ambiguity

October 12, 2015

A visit to the RHS garden at Hyde Hall this weekend. While everyone else was admiring views through the gardens, autumn flowers or leaves, I was peering at tree trunks. I was drawn to the variety of marks and patterns on the bark of the birches in particular. The lines suggest stitches. Or signal traces - morse code, electronic pulses. There's just enough suggestion of some kind of order without repetition. The way the lines were interrupted or changed by other marks - lichen, cracks or scars - also interested me.

Something I have been reading:

“There is a human need to make sense from the random confusion of the world, to process our perceptions as we experience them, and to structure them as best we can. ... vision is an active process in which the brain attempts to make sense of the information it receives from the eyes. ”

— Derek Horton, Introduction "Drawing Ambiguity" (2015)

Exploring this process of perception and interpretation is at the heart of what I like to do. But at the same time I think marks and imagery are more interesting if they never quite resolve themselves but remain somewhat unexplained. Ambiguity leaves room for a wider range of interpretation. As soon as they resolve themselves into something definite it closes off some of the possible layers of meaning - which is far less engaging in my view.

“Ambiguity is a property of the interpretative relationship between people and things or ideas (or representations of them). ... In other words, things and ideas are not inherently ambiguous; rather, ambiguity arises in their interpretation.”

— Derek Horton, as before

The interpretation placed upon marks or images relates as much to the observer's own experience and concerns as anything in the imagery itself. I may have certain intentions for my work but am sometimes surprised by the things other people see. This is both rewarding and challenging. In some ways it is more challenging when I am working with marks that are less abstract. I like to retain that tension where the observer is not quite certain how to interpret the imagery. But the opposite problem is avoiding the kind of wilful obscurity or mystification that is merely annoying:

“... ambiguity’s value is determined by the quality of interpretation and the meaning that is derived from it. Ambiguity is not a virtue in itself and it can end up being merely confusing, frustrating or meaningless”

— Derek Horton, as before

Plenty to think about while I develop and refine the pieces I'm working on in the studio.

Marshland

March 14, 2015

“When the 19th century art critic John Ruskin wrote that “mountains are the beginning and end of landscape”, he was, on this occasion, wrong. For some of us, it is at the shore’s edge that landscape truly begins and ends, where the land meets and inter-penetrates with the sea and the sky. It is also where many geological eras and human belief systems find their fulfilment or nemesis. In his introduction to S. Baring-Gould’s novel, Mehalah, set on Mersea Island in the second half of the nineteenth century, Fowles refers to the “vast God-denying skies, the endless grey horizon, the icy north-easterlies on the Dengie flats in winter.”

— Ken Worpole "350 miles: an Essex Journey"

One of my plans for this year is to spend time exploring the Essex marshes. I sometimes feel that I know the Norfolk coastline better than my own so I decided it was time to redress the balance. At the beginning of January we walked out along the Dengie peninsula. It was bitterly cold. The tide was out but the mist made it hard to distinguish water from mud flat anyway. At one point I watched a flock of Knot disappearing and emerging out of the mist as they did their "dance" over the mud flats.

The walk is along the sea wall, with salt marsh to one side and farmland to the other. The difference in the colour and texture of the land on each side is stark. I was reading John Cage at the time and there was a bit about the visual equivalent of silence being "nothing to see". So I was thinking about this as I walked through this bleak, flat, featureless landscape. But gradually you adjust, so that each line of posts, a bend in a creek or a change in the vegetation becomes an event. So instead of "nothing to see" the small details become more striking - almost "noisy".

We went back last weekend. This time it was a bright, sunny March afternoon and warm enough to regret some of the layers I'd piled on. I love the way the colours of the marsh are changed by the different light.

My drawings at the moment are dominated by diffuse edges and long horizontals, punctuated by short vertical strokes.

My current reading list:

Wandering lines

February 11, 2014

I spent the weekend in Norfolk, where (as ever) I took hundreds of photographs. Each visit, I usually find I'm drawn to a particular element, which can change from one visit to another. Sometimes it has been trees, other times it has been edges - the point where one colour or surface transitions into another. Often it is the lines.

Walking across marshland to the beaches, following the creeks and channels that cut their way through the marsh, I was fascinated by the line drawn by the water through the mud of the creeks. Twisting, meandering, serpentine, sinuous... On a larger scale these are repeated by the course of the creeks themselves. On the salt marsh, the edges of the channels are obscured by the vegetation, but the same turning line is there. Then, on the fields, after the heavy rains we have been having, pools had formed - and I noticed the edges adopted the same curving form. They looked exactly like the asymmetrically curving streams in Chinese painting.

There are few straight lines here. Although I did find some. Scratches on the bottom of boat hulls. Reeds breaking the horizontal surface of the water. Cracks and fissures in the cliffs. I photographed those too.

This evening I picked several of the photographs and edited them to bring out their abstract linear qualities. I faded the colour, blurred edges, lightened, darkened, until I had a whole series of monochrome, semi-abstract images. I'm contemplating developing some of these further on paper. … and I have lots of new ideas for effects I want to try with dye and resists.