Site specific sculpture, commissioned 2003 by Wakehurst Kew, for Pearcelands Wood.

Walking through Pearcelands Wood on a quiet, mid-winter day; woods I know well from making a sculpture here a few years ago. As I walk, an open awareness of the trees, plants, creatures; the light and the weather… open to what might present itself as an idea for a new piece.

Pausing to soak up the sight of several majestic oak and beech trees… multiple layers of texture, bare branches and subtle winter colours. A holloway, a sunken path made from centuries of human footfall, on the downwards slope of land… at the bottom a dark yew tree frames a bright circle of green pasture in the field beyond, strong contrast of light and colour. 

I envisage hazels either side of the sunken path reaching across to entwine, creating a series of arches, embracing the space, leading towards the bright circle of green, to a space beyond.

February work in progress

I’m interested in the relationship to place, to the community of plants and animals already there. How to work with minimal impact, to create with my own hands something of simple beauty that’s harmonious, celebratory, in relationship. Not imposing, but contributing, sharing the sense of what I perceive there.

Making 

Returning in February to begin. A pair of secateurs, a small hand saw, a flask of hot tea.

I explore bending and interweaving the coppiced hazel, much of it 7 or 8 metres tall, from either side of the holloway. Weaving follows the growth pattern of the hazel to create a relaxed but stable structure. None of the material is contorted, twisted or wrapped tight. Wherever honeysuckle grows up through the hazel, I incorporate it.

Occasionally I use extra honeysuckle to secure the hazel… but mostly interweaving is sufficient, no other binding or securing: a simplicity of materials that is satisfying and congruent.

My focus is on having as light a touch with the weave as possible, leaving minimal evidence of human intervention, so that the arches look almost as if they were naturally growing this way.

In the quiet of the woods, entering and walking barefoot beneath a sequence of seven arches, gradually moving towards an open space in the distance, there is stillness, reverie. Sensing how the light changes between these woven, growing arches; hearing rustles of wood mice in the leaf litter, song thrush singing from the top of an oak.

Maybe we lose ourselves as we enter this suspended space, reconnecting to where we truly belong, within the whole earth community, or as sculptor Antony Gormley puts it, within the ‘wider world of creatureliness’.

April: I spot the mossy clump of a nest tucked away high up in one of the hazel arches. Recently built (I know this because the moss is bright green), a thrush sits incubating her eggs, I can just see her tail.

Returning in June, the nest is empty, hopefully a successful brood fully fledged. I inspect it closely this time… a perfectly shaped mud-lined interior hidden deep in the mossy, leafy clump.

In July we find a wren’s nest in another arch, with chicks inside it.

Birds choosing to nest there seeems possibly the most affirming response an artist could wish for.

The quiet of December

Birds: first day, laying on the ground at tea break, gazing upwards, a couple of buzzards soaring in the clear cold sky. And another bird I don’t recognise. Talking with groundsman Steven, he tells of goshawk sightings in the area.

Researching, I learn that goshawks, usually highly elusive and rarely seen (famous as incredible hunters), do aerial displays in Feb/March. On subsequent days, more goshawk encounters: seen in flight skimming the tree tops; being mobbed by corvids through the tree canopy; hearing its rasping call.

A friend in Cumbria tells me of a local man who regularly hunts with his female goshawk; he’s known as Jimmy Three Fingers, on account of his bird ‘getting a bit feisty’ one day.

A flock of long tailed tits regularly passes through at the top of the holloway, perching on the first hazel arch as they follow each other to the large nearby oak for feeding. Liquid songs of blackbird and song thrush; chiffchaffs and great tits with their repetitive calls.