Reeds

February 18, 2018

It’s halfway through February and not long now until Sally and I present the work we have each developed in our Wicken Fen collaboration. I stopped posting regular updates of our visits to the Fen because they seemed very repetitive. And there have been a lot of them – at all times of year and in widely varying conditions. Although many visits seemed to develop their own theme – ice (visit 10); spiders and cobwebs (visit 9) …

The purpose of these repeated visits has been to experience the Fen at different times and seasons and allow ourselves to be led in new directions in response. We have used drawing, photography, talking and writing to record impressions and develop our ideas. That movement from gathering information to developing work is a difficult phase and this time at least I just didn’t want to blog about it. My ideas shifted over the course of the project and it was better to let them evolve in private.

So, here we are, less than two months until the exhibition, my studio filling up with work, and perhaps now it is time to talk about the main themes that I have homed in on. Let’s start with the reeds.

Reedbeds spring Helen Terry Wicken Fen.jpg

When I think of the fen, I think of the reeds. They are found everywhere and no matter what time of year you visit they set the character of the fen. When Sally and I first visited in early summer 2016, I was dismayed by the tall, thick stands of bright green reed that covered the fen, obscuring views of open water. At the height of summer, they close you in – you cannot see over or through them in places and you may even have to push through them where the path narrows. And the greenness merges into all the other greens, although the dark purple inflorescences are amazing.

But as the year progresses, the leaves fall, the stems slowly bleach and the low sun turns the seedheads pale gold and then silver. The fen opens out again and is filled with light. The silver reeds contrast with the charcoal greys of winter trees. It is more monochromatic but this is how I like to see it best.

Reedbed from Tower Hide Helen Terry Wicken Fen.jpg

Reed seedhead in winter Helen Terry Wicken Fen.jpg

Reedbed from East Mere Hide Helen Terry Wicken Fen-2.jpg

The sound changes too – from a soft, swishing whisper in summer to a dry rustling or crackling in winter. At some times and in some parts of the fen it is almost the only sound you hear. Often you also hear, though you may only glimpse, birds moving through the reedbed; while marsh harriers (or even hen harriers) glide over the top, hunting; and in the evenings flocks of swallows (summer) or starlings (winter) swoop over the reeds before settling to roost. I also love the sight of midges caught by the sunlight over the reeds - like gold dust.

Reedbeds and midges summer Helen Terry Wicken Fen.jpg

Common or Norfolk Reed (Phragmites Australis) grows up to 3 metres and is one of Britain’s tallest native grasses. Remarkably, there is more of the plant below ground than above:

“Strong horizontal rhizomes ramify the soil, sending up forests of vertical shoots that give rise to the aerial parts. The above-ground parts die each year, although the dead stems and leaf bases may remain standing for several years. The rhizome system however is perennial and potentially immortal, producing new growth and shoots year after year, perhaps for centuries.”

— Chapter 4"Reed beds", "Wicken Fen: the making of a wetland nature reserve"; TJ Bennett and L E Friday

Phragmites australis (illustration by D A Showler from "Wicken Fen: the making of a wetland nature reserve").

Reedbeds are essentially swamp and a transitional habitat between land and water. If the water is too deep aquatic plants have the edge; too dry and herbs and shrubs take over. At Wicken Fen a programme of cutting and burning is necessary to prevent the transition from reedbed to scrub and close monitoring and manipulation of water levels is essential to keep the fen wet but not too wet. What seems such a “natural”, unspoilt landscape actually depends upon human intervention to keep it in this transitional phase.

Reedbeds offer a diversity of habitat that is extremely valuable for birds and insects. Some British birds only breed in reedbeds and common reed supports a dazzling variety of invertebrates in every part of the plant. “Some of the rarest creatures on the reserve are also the smallest and least visible” is a remark made by one of the Managers at the Fen, that has stayed with Sally and me.

So where does this get me:

The reeds dominate the landscape, habitat, appearance, sound and colour of the fen.
They are a plant of the edge, neither land nor water, and constantly seeking to advance in either direction.
Seen vs unseen - they are highly visible but there is even more that is hidden. They have "secrets" in the form of invertebrates that live or breed within the plant or birds or mammals that hide in the reedbeds.
Light and colour - as ever I prefer the winter colours. Particularly the effects of the light in autumn and winter.

Reed imagery is featuring in most of my work, but I am particularly interested in the reflections they make in the water. More on this later.

More information:

Wicken Fen: the making of a wetland nature reserve - ed Laurie Friday (Harley Books / The National Trust. Colchester. 1997)
The Wildlife Trusts: Reedbeds
The Wildlife Trusts: Common Reed

Reflections Wicken Fen January2017 Helen Terry

Wicken Fen: fourth visit

January 8, 2017

I left home early in an attempt to reach the Fen by dawn. Winter mornings, especially if there is mist or frost, can be lovely. But this was a grey, drizzly January morning, so it probably didn’t matter that I arrived later than hoped.

In summer the fen felt closed-in, opaque and overwhelmingly green. You couldn’t see past the lush vegetation. Now, it feels as though the landscape has expanded and opened out. I can see through bare twigs, reeds and trees. Areas of open water that had been totally obscured by the reed beds, reflect light even on a grey morning. The colours are winter greys accented by acid green or yellow (lichen, moss), pale blue (water, sky) and warm golds or ochres, where the sun catches the leaves.

This time Sally and I explored the southern part of the reserve to the edge of Burwell Fen. Winter crops were pushing through adjacent fields – undulating, dotted lines of emerald green against indigo-black soil.

Fields Wicken Fen January2017 Helen Terry

In places, vine-like plants have twisted and wound themselves together to create dense, matted coverings over fences at the edge of the paths. A little surreal. I particularly liked the contrast with the reeds behind.

Matted plants Wicken Fen January2017 Helen Terry

We remain interested in the hides and found two new ones to explore. Once again I was interested in the way reflections in the windows disrupt or overlay the view. Taking photographs through rain-spattered glass resulted in some impressionistic images too.

But the main thing that excited me on this visit were the reflections in the water. These varied according to the light, the water quality and any disruption in the surface. My favourite was one ditch where some disturbance had turned the water a milky blue-green, the perfect background for the shadows and reflections cast by the willows and linear marks of the reeds growing out of the water and fallen branches.

In the afternoon the sun emerged and turned the surface of Wicken Lode silver. Trees and reeds on the opposite bank were reflected up side down while reeds in the foreground cut across these images. Monochromatic, linear images. Positive and negative space.

Reflections Wicken Fen Helen Terry January2017-1.jpg

Reflections Wicken Fen Helen Terry January2017-1-7.jpg

Reflections Wicken Fen Helen Terry January2017-1-6.jpg

Reflections Wicken Fen Helen Terry January2017-1-8.jpg

There is something about these images cast on the surface of the water but not being part of the water. The reflection can be so distinct but is essentially unreal, insubstantial, ephemeral. They are an indirect way of looking at the original. And a reversal or distortion of what's there. Some are so clear that my photograph could be taken for the original. But I like those where there is just enough disruption to make you question what you see.

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.