Reflections

First, some extracts from my notes: 

Reflection.  Noun. 

1. The throwing back by a body or surface of light, heat or sound without absorbing it.
2. Serious thought or consideration
3. An idea about something
4. An image seen in a mirror or shiny surface
5. 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. 

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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. 

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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

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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. 

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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. 

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Reeds

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. 

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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. 

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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. 

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.  

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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

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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