Thorn

May 20, 2018

In between periods of working on the Wicken Fen project, over the last year or so I made a group of small works called Thorn. The making was spread out over the whole year with long gaps between stages and the thinking and process were quite different.

I was interested in making a group of pieces within a limited set of parameters: size, format and colour palette. In some ways this was quite a formal exercise in composition. The emphasis was on balancing the colour and texture contrast between the plain and printed sections to develop a group of pieces that work both individually and together.

Thematically, the group is related to the Blackthorn series. At the time I was working on this group, I was listening to Dowland and reading Peter Davidson “The Last of the Light”, while on my morning walks I was noticing the effect of frost, raindrops and mist on the hedgerows. I’m drawn to the way these phenomena both highlight and obscure the underlying forms.

Thorn detail Helen Terry October2017.jpg

There are 11 pieces in the group, which can now be seen in new exhibitions at Gallery 57 in Arundel and at Bircham Gallery in Holt. Bircham Gallery is also showing work from the Wicken Fen series. Exhibition details below. If you can't get to the galleries, work can be viewed on their web sites via the links.

Gallery 57: A contour, a curve, the lie of the land. 19 May -27 August 2018

Bircham Gallery: Spring Mixed Exhibition. 19 May – 13 June 2018.

Reeds

February 18, 2018

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.

Reedbeds spring Helen Terry Wicken Fen.jpg

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.

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.

Reedbed from Tower Hide Helen Terry Wicken Fen.jpg

Reed seedhead in winter Helen Terry Wicken Fen.jpg

Reedbed from East Mere Hide Helen Terry Wicken Fen-2.jpg

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.

Reedbeds and midges summer Helen Terry Wicken Fen.jpg

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

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

Wicken Fen: fifth visit

February 25, 2017

Sally and I squeezed in another visit to the Fen last weekend. A shorter visit than our previous ones but we are keen to make the most of what remains of the winter. The weather was duller than had been forecast but at least it was mild.

The Workshop attached to the Fenman’s Cottage was open and so we went in to explore. The 18th century cottage was inhabited until the 1970s when the National Trust acquired it as a rare survival of a vernacular Fenland building. The workshop was filled with tools and examples of Fenland crafts. Tucked amongst all these were a collection of animal skulls and, bizarrely, a stuffed mole poking its head out of an enamel mug.

It was hard to take good photographs in the low light without a tripod. Sally and I were drawn to the collection of old photographs pinned to one of the walls. The photos were faded, speckled and curled with age. We were interested in what this did to the images.

Constrained for time, we headed towards Baker’s Fen which was less busy than the main part of the reserve. This time I was concentrating on the colours of the fen. On this overcast February day, the overall impression was paleness. Bleached reeds, withered leaves, silver water. The reeds have a warm red undertone but everything else is a cold grey. A pile of freshly cut willow on the other hand was blue-green and rust. A short-eared owl glided over the reeds, stopping us in our tracks. Its feathers matched the fen.

I deliberately over-exposed some of my photographs. This exaggerated the paleness, removed detail and created more abstract images. The results remind me of the faded photographs in the fenman’s workshop.

Abstract Fen-Wicken Fen-Helen Terry February2017

Abstract branches-Wicken Fen-Helen Terry-February2017

Winter lines

December 13, 2015

New inspirations and ideas brewing.

I've said before that I like winter. The linear quality of bare branches. The subtle range of winter greys. The way everything is exposed and reduced to essentials.

One walk this weekend was initially really unpromising. Poor light, a cold wind and rain showers made photography difficult. But then I started focusing on the graphic qualities of the bare trees against the flat grey sky and I was away. I became interested in the different branch patterns, the edge of the tree line and the negative spaces.

On a different walk (with slightly better weather) the best part came towards dusk when we passed a lake. I loved the way the tree reflections were exaggerated and broken by the water.

Even as I was taking all these photographs, I was thinking about drawings - abstract, monochrome ones. I said this was prompting new ideas but in practice I was making connections to some old ones too. But then isn't that always how it is?

I shall be spending most of Christmas stitching new work. But I think some drawing might provide a useful contrast to this.