Common Ground
October 2022 – May 2023, New Forest national park official artist in residence Exhibition: May 9th -June 3rd (opening event 13th May, 1-3pm, ritual walk 3-5pm)
Chapters:
1) Relationships and access to nature
2) Commons
3) Stewardship and folk culture
4) Rights and responsibilities
5) Walking and the wheel of the year
6) Counterculture and the New Forest Gypsy
7) What questions has all this raised?
8) How will my artwork respond to this?
9) Thanks
For the month of October 2022 I was resident in the New Forest, staying in a cabin supplied by the New Forest National Park Authority at SpudWORKS; a gallery and artists’ studios, set in a tiny village in the heart of the forest. This essay documents the process and critical thinking leading up to my exhibition (9th May - 3rd June, 2023).
I spent my month exploring the area’s unique and magical mosaic of habitats and carbon sinks; from wetlands, heath and coastline, to ancient woodlands and pony-manicured grasslands (the New Forest ponies are known locally as ‘the architects of the forest’). I researched the area’s socioecological systems, cultural heritage and folklore, and had conversations with many local stewards of the land, discovering diverse landscapes and abundant wildlife along the way.
Relationships and access to nature
This part of England is a really special place for me. I grew up nearby in Andover; a rural, working class, Hampshire town. I have so many happy memories of being in the New Forest as a child; hunting for fairy mushrooms (aka fly agarics) with my grandad, pond-dipping on school trips, family walks, camping, picnics, dogs, ferrets, rabbits and walking in the footprints of feral ponies.
Writing this I realise even more clearly what a privilege it is to grow up so close to nature (although I didn't always appreciate it at the time (⊙︿⊙✿).
A relationship with nature teaches us so much. It is essential to our personal, communal and planetary wellbeing. Yet, here in England, access to nature is neither open nor equal.
My resident counterpart, artist Marie Smith, explored ideas around identity and access in her photographic exhibition which took place during my time in the forest; and my own research continues her enquiry.
Connection, relationships and access to nature provided my jumping off point.
"and into the forest i go
to lose my mind and find my soul."
John Muir
Commons
Many of the words in this chapter are borrowed from the brilliant Nick Hayes, co-founder of the Right to Roam campaign group, illustrator and author of The Book of Trespass and The Trespasser’s Companion. I urge you to read these books and support the movement:
https://www.righttoroam.org.uk/
The idea of ‘land’ is a broad term. Land means much more than just the soil or topography, it is the history, the ecology, and the politics, as well as the societies and cultures it has played host to. By better understanding our societal history of the land we can have a clearer vision of how community and land could be entwined again.
Today there are about 1 million acres of common land in England, but they are a shadow of what they once were and how they were used. The commons were areas of land in which the locals had certain rights, including a de facto right of access. Each area of common ground had specific rights, which depended on the resource it offered – the parameters were decided together by the local community. Each member of the community had rights to those features of the land, but only on the agreement that members work together to sustain the resource - it was an early philosophy of eco-sustainability, built around the idea that though none of them actually owned the land, they were caring for it in a way that future generations could benefit from it too. Every year, commoners would vote in a ‘reeve’ to ensure resource was not exploited. It was a matrix of rights and responsibilities that balanced personal use with public responsibility, so that certain essential resources were managed collectively.
The culture of the commons is one of inclusivity, based on the idea that everyone has a need for certain resources. It follows that everyone should have a right to access them under strict guidelines, so they remain stewarded and thus sustainable.
The Forest Common Rights, first laid out in the Charter of the Forest in 1217 (although pre-existing for centuries before) are an example of this, with grazing and pannage still today playing an important role in the Forest's ecology:
Common of pasture for ponies, cattle, donkeys and mules: these animals are ‘turned out’ to live as wild into the Open Forest (there are currently around 5000 ponies in the Forest);
Common of mast/pannage: the right to turn out pigs in the autumn to devour the acorns and beechnuts – this provides food for the pigs and reduces the threat to ponies and cattle from the nuts which are poisonous to them. This right is still frequently exercised;
Common of pasture for sheep: although some of the large estates have this right it is infrequently exercised today;
Common of estovers: the free supply of a stipulated amount of firewood to certain properties. Managed by the Forestry Commission today – but not commonly exercised;
Common of marl: the right to dig clay to improve agricultural land or use for building materials – this right is no longer exercised;
Common of turbary: the right to cut peat turves, found mostly under the heathland, for the Commoner’s personal fuel use - no longer exercised.
Before the Inclosure Act, over 400 years ago, common people all over England had the above rights plus many others to rural land and had used it this way for generations – that is, until they were evicted by the elite and the notion of private property was introduced to swathes of our common land, leading to the entrapment of the working class and their labour.
When the fences went up around England, commoners lost not only their right to the wealth of the land, but also the right to play with it, to create, and be inspired. Thriving localised customs, heritage crafts, skills and traditions were – and still are being - gradually forgotten.
This may all sound archaic and irrelevant to our present day lives, but we need to reclaim our rights to the land. Our right to self-regulated use and conservation that benefits the whole community and the land itself, not just private estates, the privileged and rich.
Of course, rights evolve over time, as they should (no one needs to be digging up peat these days) - but those rights which have been eroded or outmoded have not been replaced with updated, contextual ones. We need rights which are relevant to not only the place but the time in which we live. For example; our right to learn, to exercise, to find mental respite, to protect and to give back to nature.
There is a need for a new mindset about the land and our relationship to it which requires a societal, cultural and spiritual shift.
Stewardship and folk culture
It’s impossible to understate the importance of the common of pasture to the New Forest; from its socioeconomic and cultural influence, to its impact on preserving the area’s important, pastoral landscape, which is largely down to the grazing and browsing ponies and their management by Commoners (those who occupy land or property to which the right of ‘pasture’ is attached over the Forest). The tradition has played a critical role in helping the New Forest become one of the most biodiverse places in Europe.
The ongoing preservation and evolution of this landscape is testament not only to the stewardship of Commoners and their animals, but also thanks to a host of other more contemporary stewards of the land - conservation volunteers, citizen scientists, park rangers, ecologists, archeologists, crafts people, foragers, ramblers and more - several of whom I was lucky enough to get to know during my residency. These stewards were my guides, and I’m extremely grateful to have had the pleasure of learning from them all (adventures include deer ruts, trespasses to the coast, pony grooming and climbing heather bale mountains to name just a few).
Many of those who chose to spend their time with me were elders. The elders in our communities are our wisdom keepers; passing on their Traditional Environmental Knowledge and ancestral bond with the land; keeping folk culture such as customs, rites, skills, crafts, trades and identities alive for the next generation.
Folk tales arise from this, handed down by elders, through a shared community knowledge of the land. They are crucial links to the phenomenology of the landscape. These ancient stories animate the landscape and express a commons philosophy that safeguards areas from excessive development, amongst other destructive forces. From mysterious antlered beasts, like the New Forest’s ‘Stratford Lyon’, to protective hag stones, these stories trigger local pride and generate a sense of connectivity which strengthens resistance; and they must be told and retold by modern imaginations to fit the needs of the time.
The Colt Pixi is one such tale, described in Vikki Bramshaw’s book, ‘New Forest Folklore, Traditions & Charms’, as a New Forest trickster spirit, which takes the shape of a pony, small and wild looking with a rough, pale coat, and waving mane and tail. It lures walkers, riders and ponies into the treacherous bogs – according to local lore only the eldest born sibling is protected from its spell (phew). The area’s many lowland bogs, moors and mires are rich habitats for wildlife and rare plants, and you’ll often find Bronze age barrows situated above these valleys, each with their own associated myths (from giants and fairies to the ‘Colt Pixi’s Cave). Although unsuitable for building, they are rich in peat and fossil fuels, meaning that over the years these precious carbon sinks have been threatened, but thankfully somehow have escaped devastation. The bogs continue to play a big part in the folklore of the New Forest - let’s hope the Colt Pixi is able to continue warding off unwanted visitors for generations to come.
Folk culture like this is the convergence of ‘now’ and ‘tradition’. It thrives when it is a living, evolving, collaborative plurality built on previous patterns - just as the land itself does. E.g. the defunct marl pits (ref the ‘ancient forest rights’ above), such as Standing Hat Pond, which now provide watery habitats for rare species of insects and reptiles.
The main method of conserving culture however - and nature - in the past 100 years or so has been to compartmentalise in a desperate attempt to hold onto rapidly disappearing traditions and customs, habitats and species. The reality however is that this is like putting a glass dome over something – it sooner or later becomes a museum artefact. Populations can't exist in isolation. We need connectivity. And it's not about segregating wildlife and humans either – it's about integrating and connecting so that both can live and thrive side by side.
The different stewards I spent my time with, plus a morning at the ancient Verderers Court (images below), gave me a unique insight into the local tensions surrounding the notion of co-existence in the New Forest; the stresses caused by conflicting human needs for nature - from pastoralism, farming and industry, to education, recreation, physical/mental health and spiritual wellbeing – as well as nature’s needs.
Despite these opposing narratives however, universal points of connection shone through; the visceral love, sense of attachment and desire to protect the forest that each steward had. Each described a deep emotional, sensorial connection; from the smell of green wood fires to the sense of calm experienced on the heath at dawn. And undeniably, each had witnessed the impacts of climate change in the area; from later autumns and earlier springs, to declining wildlife and retreating vegetation (although the New Forest fairs better than most, British wildlife populations have plummeted by an average of 60% since 1970, and one in every five plants in the UK is now listed as threatened).
Finding common ground like this unites us; and if ever there was a time to come together for the sake of our environment, it’s now. The matrix of division makes us the puppets of the wealthy, conservative, elite. It pits the cyclist against the ecologist, the commoner against the conservation volunteer. But this division is false and helps only those who created them. Campaigners and dog walkers are kith and kin in their love of the forest. If we can rise above partisanship and actively seek out conversation with those who oppose us and find common ground then we can change public minds and start a revolution in our relationship to nature; one which benefits everyone.
If convening is our first step towards getting there, then expanding the Right to Roam might just be our second. The balance of rights and responsibilities occurred time and time again during my conversations in the New Forest.
Rights and responsibilities
Thanks again here to Nick Hayes and Right to Roam for many of the words and statistics below.
The only right everyone has on the commons (and in most of the New Forest national park) is the right to roam.
The right to roam is an ancient contract between the land and the people. It existed long before state legal systems, governments and nations – only recently has it been codified in law. Among other localised specifics it gives anyone the right to explore and wander the land and the waterways, sleep under the stars, and it states our responsibilities when doing so. The right to roam emerged out of ‘the commons’ culture of land use that existed long before private property. The right for people to access land they don’t own is the last thread of the fabric of the wider commons philosophy, the network of codes and reciprocal relationships of care between communities and nature, which as described further above, was torn to shreds by the process of enclosure. It is a time capsule from a world which was more connected to nature.
The mass trespass of 1932, the Kinder Scout trespass - one of the most effective acts of civil disobedience in British history - helped to make our land more accessible through giving birth to the National Parks scheme (in its essence an access organisation) and ultimately lead to the right to the roam being enshrined under the Countryside Rights of Way (CROW) Act in 2000.
For the last two decades, the CROW Act has granted legal access to roam over certain landscapes (mountain, moor, commons and some downland, heath, and coastlines) without fear of trespassing – thankfully most of the New Forest national park falls into this category (and not just via a two meter-wide footpath) – but access to this meagre 8% of our land is a postcode lottery, available only to those who live next to it, or who can afford the cost of travel and overnight stays. With just 3% of our rivers and only 8% of land in England legally accessible to the public (56% of the remaining 92% of land is given over to agriculture and only 6% is built on) it’s no wonder many people don’t know how to behave in rural landscapes when we’re actively excluded from most of them.
In other national parks, we only have the right to roam along the provided footpath. The footpaths we have access to count for just 0.03 of the landmass, and anyway, following a footpath hardly counts as adventure. Off the footpaths there is so much more to see and do – yet even when we’re able and ‘allowed to’, many rarely stray from the paths. It feels like after centuries of exclusion we’ve come to unconsciously accept these limitations and the spirit of exploring our wild isles has been beaten out of us.
Along with repressive laws of trespass, the lack of guidance (the current government spends a pitiful £2000 a year promoting the Countryside Code) has led to a sense that swimming, camping and laying a fire simply cannot be done without causing damage – which has a given assumption that the risk in itself is a bad thing and the public cannot be trusted. But just because of rare instances is it fair that responsible people should be punished?
Clearly, the Countryside Right of Way Act is not enough – it is nowhere near enough. We need the full Right to Roam – even in the New Forest - like our Scottish and European neighbours. We need the right to wild camp and responsibly make a fire (neither wild camping or fires - apart from controlled gorse burning shown in the image below - are permitted in the New Forest; and as I write this the Dartmoor wild camping case wages on). Without this we are treating the natural world like a museum (that glass dome again). We need better, cheaper public transport links, and importantly, we need more ‘private’ land to be opened up in England to take the pressure off ‘honey pot’ locations like the New Forest and encourage people to explore the joys of their own locality, reducing the need for travel, limiting our ecological impact and making rural landscapes more accessible and affordable.
We desperately need a new vision of the English Countryside – one based not on exclusion but inclusion, and one where people from communities most marginalised from the countryside are welcomed.
People with a healthy connection to nature realise in their bones how vital it is to their wellbeing, but on the whole we’ve become accustomed to a state of nature depletion and our exclusion from it has become normalised. The more people are given the opportunity to be in nature, the more they want to protect it, improving not only their own health but the health of the countryside too. Extensive research by the Universities of Exeter and Derby, and in particular Prof Miles Richardson’s work, backs this up. From creating reptile homes, and coppicing woodland, to litter picking and monitoring water pollution (just a few examples happening in the New Forest), there are many ways that human intervention and interaction can improve human health, offering agency over anxiety, whilst actively improve the environment.
Rights in parallel with responsibilities – a sense of sustainable, participatory and connected communal work – is radical, dynamic and inclusive but not new. We already have a word for it, a word that prioritises the social over the economic, a word that describes the bottom-up, self-sustaining duties and responsibilities that individuals have to their community and land, but whose meaning has become poisoned by class politics: commoner.
All people can be stewards of nature, actively helping to protect and restore the land - if we're let back in, and welcomed. Instead of commercialising, privatising and exploiting nature, we should be learning from its wisdom.
Walking and the wheel of the year
Walking, during my time in the Forest, became an act of resistance (not least because the area is incredibly difficult to get around if you don’t drive). I made a point of veering away from the provided footpaths whenever the feeling took me; exploring, and exercising my right to roam.
Walking in solitude – really noticing things and navigating with my parents’ trusty, fold-out OS map instead of my phone – sharpened my senses. As I swaeth my way through the forest I encountered veteran trees and ancient woodlands (my favourites were Denny and Markash woods) alongside newly restored baby broadleaf plantations. I explored mysterious old marl pits and other intriguing banks and ditches, high-sided holloway roads worn down from years of pilgrimage, and undiscovered rides (the local term for foot paths). I followed sacred springs, smoots and smeuses (animal tracks and trails), discovering prehistoric burial mounds and round barrows (or ‘Tumulus’, as the OS refers to them in its gothic lettering). I saw the scars of inclosures and enclosures on the land, and the remnants of ancient coppice sites as well as present day working ones. There was always plenty of ‘ling’ (New Forest speak for ‘heather’) and ‘fuzz’ or ‘furze’ (gorse) on the heaths, and I developed an unhealthy addition for hunting down apotropaic or ‘witch’ marks inscribed into hearths and alters (‘like crack for history buffs’… yes, Weird Walk, so true!) alongside more recent arborglyphs (tree graffiti). I learned to enjoy the quietude of birdwatching, then got my blood pumping by being chased by a foal after my oat cakes. I stalked stags, following their throaty, October mating call, found epic lockdown dens, and collected stones, bones, white sand, wild clay, pony hair and much more on my walks – inadvertently gathering the materials used to make the local cob mix for building traditional New Forest cottages.
I arrived at the New Forest just in time for the descent into the colder and darker half of the year (in the Northern hemisphere). During my many walks through the wild, autumnal landscape I became acutely aware of the changing seasons; the ever-shifting balance of light and dark, trees letting go of their leaves, the impermanence of everything, and the beauty of the perpetual, regenerative life/death continuum.
The smell of rotting wood and its partnership with fungus resonated. In the UK up to a fifth of woodland species, many of which are nationally threatened, depend on dead or dying trees. For example, of 771 scarce woodland invertebrate species listed for the UK, one in three require deadwood habitats.
As trees start dying and break apart their limbs, bark and dead leaves fall to the ground. Fungi begin to blossom, followed by a green and brown patchworks of moss and lichen (due to the ecological continuity of parts of the New Forest it is home a wide number of moss and lichen species; most commonly Sphagnum and Caladonia). Slugs, bees and beetles begin moving into the flourishing new habitat, and eventually small mammals burrow into the deadwood and litter.
If the dead trees are left standing, they effectively become apartment blocks, with different creatures occupying the various levels of its decaying trunk. Woodpeckers open up large cavities, while insects and other creatures move in and expand their living space. These larger holes offer homes for bats and owls to roost.
In its ever-transforming state, the evolving tree never really dies, but instead offers new possibilities for life to flourish; making meaning in the context of resilience.
What is often interpreted as destruction is actually a force of creation.
Woodland management, such as the hazel coppice tradition, is another example of this. Hazel coppices are usually cut on a 3-15 year cycle, in rotation. This ancient, regenerative craft supports biodiversity by providing continuous, varied habitats, resetting the tree’s natural clock each time, and helping livelihoods with the sustainable production of charcoal (the oldest woodland craft – now created using an environmentally friendly kiln and used mainly for BBQs and artists’ charcoal), biochar (a soil sweetener), beanpoles, walking sticks, hurdles (woven, wooden fences) and spars (for roofing).
I remain convinced that to change the course of the climate crisis and ensure collective survival we must learn from the strategies of natural systems, alongside drawing on the traditional environmental knowledge and animistic wisdom of our elders and indigenous people, in order to reignite a more spiritual sense of stewardship to the land and an understanding of our place on this earth.
Just like nature, humans go through cycles too. It’s not possible to consistently produce and create. That is a capitalist ideal and is the antithesis to the constant cycles of composting and growth that we see in nature. Infinite growth, witnessed in nature, is only ever cancerous.
The fact that we even have the word “nature” is so telling. As though nature is something separate and outside of ourselves. Some Indigenous languages do not even have a word for “nature”. The idea of nature as being outside of humans and humans as being superior to nature is a story that does not serve us. We no longer trust our own animal instincts, yet we interact with our environment constantly. We breathe in oxygen created by plants. We depend on other organisms for our very survival. Our faculties and senses have evolved with and are designed to be in nature. The need to deconstruct the narrative of nature separation has never been more urgent. If nature is threatened so are we. We ARE nature.
We must seek out patterns of behaviour and beliefs, resilient threads and fractals, that we can practice at the smallest scale of relationships in order to create new collective patterns of survival and joy. The kind of change we need is cellular as well as institutional, collective as well as cultural.
To expand our ways of relating to the world around us we must go beyond the intellect alone. If we are to truly learn to think in new and different ways, we must begin with feeling. It is embodied knowledge that emerges as a guide for these times.
The wisdom of natural systems is inside all of us if we chose to tune in to it.
Counterculture and the New Forest Gypsy
We must not forget that the English Countryside a place of conflict as well as beauty. As Jeremy Deller points out in his Weird Walk interview; it can harbour sinister nationalism and hostility to ‘outsiders’, or ‘incomers’ – but who determines who belongs and who doesn’t? From the Swing Riots and new age travellers, to illegal lockdown raves and the current trespass movement, ideological battles have been fought in the fields. The English Countryside is an uncontrollable place.
As a 90s teenager I’ve always been fascinated by rave culture and the art of protesting the land (think back to Twyford Downs and the Newbury bypass road protests, both near my home town, where the roads were built but direct action won out when government’s road building programme was abandoned). Although just too young to experience it for myself, I would collect flyers and think about all those people leaving the excitement of the city in favour of partying or protesting in fields and forests; to go on the quest, the journey, a contemporary pilgrimage rooted in a primal urge for collective experience. But this urge is nothing new, ancient sites and the English Countryside have long been places of pilgrimage, ritual, ceremony, dance, hallucinogens, communion, kinship and celebration. There is a connection to the deep past in solstice raves and in the defence of common land - but who has the freedom to access, inhabit and enjoy these rural landscapes? Which narratives have been pushed to the margins?
The Criminal Justice and Public Order Act of 1994 targeted protests, illegal raves and the traveller community – a process that continues to this day – which meant that travellers and Roma people saw their nomadic way of life systematically expunged by the state.
It is understood that within my own family we have Romani heritage - something I’m only beginning to explore - my research led me to the ‘Nevi-Wesh’ (New Forest) Gypsies. Once a common sight in the area, with their green wood fires, tents and vardos, the Gypsies were expelled from the land over a period dating from 1926. They were rounded up to camp in slum-like ‘compounds’ after an act was passed to state that camping in the open forest was now an offence, and from then, cruelly herded into ‘Gypsy Rehabilitation Centres’, and later forced to re-settle in council houses. Another ‘glass dome’ of sorts - only this time to ‘protect’ those on the outside.
Looking back through historical documentation at the New Forest Heritage Centre, there’s no explanation as to why this happened, other than turn-of-the-century tourists finding them ‘an unsightly problem’. Of course – we now know it to be racism and ethnic cleansing. After 400 years of living side-by-side with gorgers (non-Romani) the New Forest Gypsies were all but wiped out. The local oral history project captures recollections of this and life prior to the expulsion – a life intimately entwined with the land.
There is so much we can learn from the Romani way of life and their understanding of the natural world on an esoteric level, and though sadly much of that knowledge has been lost, it is still possible to track down sympathetic books by local authors, such as ‘Wanderers in the New Forest’ and ‘The Herbal Handbook’.
We cannot let something like this happen again. We must celebrate our differences and learn from each other in order to coexist. We must welcome ‘outsiders’ and ‘common people’ into the English countryside or else it simply becomes a safari park colonised by a rich elite. Where diverse identities and cultures collide, in the margins and the ecotones, this is where new and better things are created, where the emergent strategies we need in order to survive can thrive, where modern myths are made and a new sense of local (over nationalistic) pride blossoms. The future is dynamic and evolving.
What questions has all this raised?
· What role does art have to play in this conversation?
· How can art disrupt capitalist systems of production, individualism and consumer culture?
· Can I allow myself to be authentic/vulnerable and confront my own fear of grief/loss?
· How will I guide myself and others?
· How do I give back to the land?
· What can I learn from the land - what is it telling me?
· How do/should rights evolve over time?
· How do we radicalise, inclusivise and democratise access to nature; systematically breaking down barriers and boundaries from ableism, racism and classism to the divisions of private land and better transport links?
· How can I amplify collective wisdom, community knowledge and experience?
· How can I spark collective joy and critical connection?
· How do we bring together different narratives to create living dialogues (between the human and more- than-human world?)?
· How do we co-exist with each other and the more-than-human world?
· What is the trigger point in this complex adaptive system?
· How do we/I become stewards of the earth?
· How do we find ‘common ground’?
How will my artwork respond to this?
PARTICIPATION & COLLABORATION
Art, in this instance, is a tool for connecting to the land. Art can stimulate new perspectives and the process of adaptation. Revealing the rich complexity of life and the beauty of it makes it possible to experience a sense of wonder about the earth and a better understand of our own place in it; maybe then we can be moved to care about the earth and feel more connected.
Through not just intellectual research but ancestral knowledge, sensory perceptions and emotional responses we can collectively imagine a more just future which avoids extractive patterns and regenerates the land. Humans are not a plague – we are mammals with an active role to play in this ecosystem – through this artwork we may learn to put co-operation, participation, diversity, responsibility, connection, community and love at the centre.
It’s critical that the embodied knowledge of the stewards involved in the project – the people who live and work in the forest - is embedded into the artwork. This is achieved though choice of materials, process and participatory practice i.e. hazel coppice, charcoal-making, river restoration, foraging, forestry and common of pasture.
The artwork amplifies collective wisdom and experiences of communities in the New Forest and welcomes the knowledge of marginalised voices; weaving these narratives as one.
SCULPTURE / INSTALLATION / AFTERLIFE
The sculptural form and other materials, such as sheep’s fleece and cob (using wild clay from stream restoration, local sand and pony hair - trampled by foot - the traditional way!), are further shaped by the Forest Common Rights and natural systems, particularly the composting season I experienced in October (Autumn Equinox to Samhain) which sits opposite May (Spring Equinox/Beltane) in the pagan wheel of the year, highlighting the continuum and powerful contrast of growth and decay. The gallery space will become inverted – bringing the outside in – transforming the gallery into fertile terrain.
This place-based response makes meaning by reimagining ritual and seasonal rites, connecting us to our ancient past and distant future. I will create a ‘ritual space’, where the artist is shaman, embodying the myth and mystery of festival and season, through the meaning and magic of materials and forms. The artwork uses occult/magic, elemental symbolism/shapes and references the notion of axis mundi. It creates fractal alliteration, tessellation and resilient threads representing parallels in nature and culture, breaking distinctions down between the two. The use of mandalas demonstrates the universe as macrocosm and individual as microcosm.
Other influences include the wildlife and plants which give the New Forest its character, fungus (through use of mushroom ink), wild camping (ref the Dartmoor case), my own Romani heritage and the history of the Nevi Wesh Gypsy, local folklore (hag stones and the Colt Pixi), arborglyphs, witch/apotropaic marks, plus archeological and historical features such as traditional building materials and ancient burial mounds.
All the materials are locally and sustainably sourced and/or foraged from the land; seasonal and biodegradable; encouraging visitors to tune into their senses – sight, touch, taste and smell - and embody their connection with nature; feeling as well as knowing.
The artwork will begin life in the gallery space; its ability to change form will be honoured after the exhibition when the materials are returned to the land, encouraging biodiversity and interspecies participation. The hay bales will become pony feed, the heather bales used for river restoration, the brown ends turned into biochar, the marl and bricks providing bee homes and bugs hotels, and so on.
I will work with natural processes, not against. By allowing nature to express itself it becomes an active participant in an evolving artwork. Through the process of letting go and relinquishing control I intend to loosen my own individualistic, extractive tendencies.
The playful, neon smiley faces and megalithic structures references the 90s rave scene; its trickster spirit and association with freedom, civil disobedience, experimentation and rebellion. Set against natural materials it creates my ‘acid folk’ / ‘neon pagan’ aesthetic, highlighting the duality of the English Countryside, its evolution and its identity as battlefield for belonging.
MAP-ZINE
I’ll create a map-zine for the exhibition; a twice-folded, double-sided, A3, illustrated guide/walking routes map along with exhibition interpretation.
In collaboration with a local expert I’ll uncover some of the hidden routes and footpaths (known locally as ‘rides’). Inspired by the Right to Roam movement, the walks included will be accessible for varying levels of mobility and require no driving – all will start and end at Spud/Sway railway station. Beyond the edges of the map I’ll note ‘perambulations’, encouraging walkers to explore further and rely on their senses and instinct, rather than mobile GPS.
In the spirit of the commons (creative commons) the map-zine will be free to re-print and re-distribute. A digital version will be available to download via my own website, Spud and NFNPA’s websites and socials. The legacy of the map-zine will create an ongoing social sculpture.
The map-zine will feel connected to the artwork through its use of the 90’s rave flyer aesthetic, plus 70’s zines and OS maps; referencing neon colour palettes, smiley iconography, and a cut and paste style with use of the gothic ‘earthworks’ OS map type face.
The opening event invitation will be derivative of this and encourage visitors to wear green or greenery to the event.
OPENING EVENT & RITUAL WALK
Sat 13th May, 1-3pm with ritual walk 3-5pm
I aim to empower and weave relationships between the participants (agents) involved and visitors, creating a complex adaptive system, of macro and micro scale, within the gallery space, out in the National Park, and beyond. Our own actions can cultivate fertile common ground.
The opening event is designed to convene the participant stewards and visitors (as diverse and inclusive as possible) together in a safe, creative space allowing for open debate and discourse around relationships to land and our changing climate. This aims to stimulate new perspectives and new ways of seeing and being in the world.
There’ll be a slide show on the foyer monitor showing photo documentation of my process, and a collective intelligence table showcasing the books and products I referenced while developing the project; plus other books, demos and products available to buy from the local people I worked with, helping to promote their work and support the local creative economy.
The opening event celebrates seasonal cycles and the pagan, folk celebration, ‘Beltane’ (May Day, often associated with the Green Man, or Jack in the Green – a hugely popular festival where I live in Hastings). Folklore, ritual, and in this instance art, connects us to the land.
I’ll be dressed in a hand-made ‘Colt Pixi’ costume and we will serve ethnobotanical remedies in clay cups, using lucky heather and gorse, that I will pick and prepare in advance.
With the help of experts, I will guide visitors on a ‘ritual walk’ (one of the routes laid out in the map-zine). The participants will be able learn about the local ecology, history and folklore (including the Colt Pixi) as well as experiencing a more spiritual, mystical quest.
Ahead of the walk, visitors will have the opportunity to personalise a walking stick with neon paint, yarn and bells, or create a leafy crown/head dress for the journey.
We’ll ask walkers to bear a few things in mind as they join us:
Bring the bin bags provided: leave this place more beautiful than you found it.
Share each other’s knowledge and learn together: anyone know how to identify different trees? What about farming cycles or which birds are about?
Put your phone on silent or airplane mode. Read the land, notice the edges you encounter whilst navigating this landscape.
There are others here: ground and treetop nesting birds are taking good care of their young, step softly, leave dogs at home and listen out to see if you can ID any.
The walk will take participants through heath and ancient woodland, stopping at places of power from bluebell glades, to sacred streams and an ancient, Bronze Age round barrow. At this point, we’ll encourage participants to stray from the path, remove their shoes and socks and connect directly with the elements beneath their bare feet. We’ll conduct a ritual giving thanks to all of nature, especially the trees and springs, using Amazonian rainforest ash to create spirals with, and tie or weave ribbons/yarn to branches in the woods and around the springs.
Walkers will have the option to cut the route short, with a steward at the rear at all times, depending on their level of mobility.
“It is therefore when the body is keyed to its highest potential and controlled to a profound harmony deepening into something that resembles trance, that I discover most nearly what it is to be.”
Nan Shepherd on walking in nature
Moments where this absorption occurs are the mystical pinnacle of the interconnected ecosystem relationship.
Impact
I will measure success through collective joy, critical connection, and the embracing of the emergence of the unknown.
゚.+:。(≧∇≦)ノ゚.+:。
www.beccymccray.com | @beccy_mccraycray
With thanks to all stewards of the land and my participants who so generously gave their time to this project
New Forest National Park Authority (Jim Mitchell, Ian Barker, Erika Dovey, Hilde van der Heul), SpudWORKS (Mark Drury, Tom Sofiktis, Bridget Eastman, Stephanie James, Tom Hall, Claudia Davies), Marie Smith, Jo and Ruth Ivey, Mike Morris, Derek Tippets and Pondhead Conservation Trust volunteers, Robbie Steen, Emmanuel Boateng, Adeola Sheehy-Adekale, New Forest Heritage Centre, New Forest Mohair, Hollyhock Flock, Teddy’s Farm, Mark Thomas (Makermark), Barry, Carole, Brom & Isla McCray.