Wounded

I have been reading about and looking at Andy Goldworthy's work in recent weeks. I have been inspired by his sense of connectedness with place in his work, and also the sense of layering, time and cycles of growth and decay that comes out in his installations. Last week all of this came to a sudden stop when a very close colleague and dear friend suddenly died last Sunday. The news of Richard's death was like a massive punch in the stomach. Shock and numbness dominated the whole week. As the week went by I felt an increasing desire to get out to Cape Roger Curtis where I am currently working on a book project. I wanted to be in nature, with nature and away from everyone with my camera and mourn my friend in some way. I had a vague idea of doing an installation at a particular tree the previous week when I walked the forest as he was dying on the other side of the world. That sense of disconnect you experience you find out someone died, and you think back on what you were doing while it happened and how you had no inkling of it was palpable for me on the Monday when I got the news. Maybe that was partly why I felt the need to go back to the forest. It just seemed like the right place to go. I took some japanese maple leaves from my garden with me when I left before sunrise on Saturday morning. I wasn't sure what it was going to be yet. I walked back to the tree I had in mind. It is an alder that stands at the edge of the forest next to the ocean. On the ocean side the bark has been damaged and it has left a large wound on the side of the tree that has grown with the tree. When I saw the wounded tree that still grows it reminded me of Richard's life and how he grew a business in spite of the wounds that he sustained when his dad died unexpectedly and he had to take over the family business. It spoke to me of how life is lived, how we all suffer wounds and how they become part of us and the scars become what define us. The japanese maple leaves reminded me of blood and life. It all came together in the work shown. Initially I thought I would attach the leaves with water, but quickly discovered that the water did not have enough surface tension. I ended up using spit. It gave a new layer of meaning because it left like licking a wound to clean it. The leaves were to stiff to bend so I discovered that I needed to tear the veins out. I needed to destroy the leaves to reveal the work. the piece developed its own rhythm as I made it and developed almost in spite of me, as if it was meant to be this way. After much thought about the work I decided to simply call it: Wounded I will never forget you Richard, the memory of you and the wound of your loss is now part me.