Gathering the Ghosts of a Place
Before the making comes the noticing.
I've always loved the idea of a field journal. Somewhere to collect the little fragments of a place — observations, drawings, colours, textures and thoughts that might eventually find their way into something else.
For this project, my field kit became a rather important companion.
I took photographs, made sketches and spent time simply looking. The shapes of leaves, the marks left by time on stone, the contrast between the architecture and the wild things growing around it.
I also brought along my dad's old film camera. There was something particularly fitting about photographing a place so full of history with an old camera of its own.
Back in the studio, these little discoveries began to gather around me.
My work often involves collecting things. Not necessarily precious things, but curious things. A feather, an acorn, an interesting colour, a photograph or a line in a sketchbook.
And, of course, there's my fascination with making ink from the natural world.
I've always thought of ink-making as a kind of everyday alchemy. Taking something ordinary and discovering that it holds the possibility of becoming something quite different.
As I began thinking about Appuldurcombe, all these interests seemed to belong together.
I didn't want to create a conventional illustration of the house. I wanted to capture something of how it felt to be there.
Something between a naturalist's collection, an artist's working archive and an old apothecary.
A little cabinet of observations from a place that had already witnessed so many transformations.
I often wonder how much of the creative process happens before we ever put pen to paper.
Perhaps collecting, wandering and noticing are just as much a part of making art as the drawing itself.
Next time: The Making of an Apothecary.