on bounding

JossNaylor_jumpingwallFields contain and confine. Fields differentiate and separate. Apparently. Those definers (and defenders) of fields have obviously never been to the uplands of the Yorkshire Dales.

For instance, on Horse Head Moor above Upper Wharfedale the stone walls are riddled with (intentional) holes. The gaps protect the walls from wind damage yet contain the herd animals. These divides cry out to be breached, for us polite ramblers this may be via a stile or kissing-gate, for the fell runner it may be with a hearty leap (of faith). And what of the traditional laid hedge? Again, the stock is contained yet the weather permeates the divide, as do the more agile creatures of the field. The rambler, fearing the quickthorn, wisely seeks the gate though.

Of course, these boundaries aren’t just scaled-up versions of the black line on the map either. They are environments in themselves: places to look out from, to nest in, to feed from and it is only the perception of the herd animal that sees them as containers.

re. view

Malvern_sun(For administrative purposes) It is just over one calendar year since I started out on this PhD and so it would seem a suitably traditional time to reflect a little and see if anything has been achieved. On the 22nd September last year I went for a walk along the Malverns (and if it wasn’t for a stinking cold I’d probably be out walking now rather than sitting here typing this). I declared that with the walk I was starting as I meant to go on.

Well, the walking has remained core to my research (but the cycling and boating will not feature). I’ve only clocked up twelve ‘official’ walks and some of these have been run – a poor strike rate but the principal is there. In fact, the running rather than the walking has become more the focus as the extra exertion required has an important rôle to play in my thinking it seems.

Much of the year has been manillafied (BS 381c) – institutional homogenisation is just not my thing: I’m more than capable of homogenising myself thank you very much! So, manilla has been the broad-brush background wash and the mid- and fore-ground have been liberally punctuated with the vermillion of life’s little complexities which has all lent the year a disorientating, grindingly slow/low, high staccato effect. Not conducive to forward propulsion if, indeed, forward is where I’m intending to go. Forward is progress and ‘progress’ (probably more correctly now Progress™) has been hijacked in recent years…it’s on a pedestal with Impact™.

One thing is certain, the Romantic element of my research title is too misleading and open to misreading which takes what I am trying to do in completely the wrong direction. I’m not on a date with the landscape! Although that thought does have an appeal it is too dualistic. Action: Romantic spirit will be retained but it will not be declared on the ingredient list. ‘Landscape’ is very much still there however, the fact that landscape is generally ‘nature’ framed by culture is challenged by an embrace of the Ingoldian reading of the word’s etymology where shaping rather than looking becomes the driving force. (2011, 126) Having apparently cut the ties I am though interested in the fact that incorporating the word ‘landscape’ into my research plugs it into a certain cultural tradition (one that includes the Romantics).

Ok, ok, the ‘British’ bit is a problem too…apparently. But look, there’s a f•••ing hashtag in front of it! Can’t you see what it is doing? The hashtagging process (for surely # is a verb/gerund) is fluid – a form of identity is retained while constituent elements may come and go. British landscape IS different to French landscape for instance but a) the landscape we are discussing is not just to be looked at – it is an active thing; and b) this landscape can be drilled down into with micro definitions (#Wealdlandscape, #Scottishlandscape, etc.). The #Britishlandscape has fractal qualities.

Hmmmm. Nature, that’s right, even when it is not at the start of a sentence it is still Nature. Nature can also become nature too as it moves deeper into the sentence. Both have given me sleepless nights. Nature is a Problem. A big part of me wants to dismiss the whole idea as it so easily sets up an ‘us and them’ barrier. In a move reminiscent of Kathleen Jamie it would be so much more healthy to declare that we are all nature. (2012) If we do remove nature as an oppositional force it then seemingly becomes necessary to install it as Nature, a thing that grounds and becomes a surrogate God. This ontological slow dance doesn’t even begin to recognise the polyvalence that n/Nature has achieved. Is n/Nature something we conquer? Something we live in harmony with? Something we reserve or conserve? And what about our ‘inner nature’?

Arthur Rackham, 'Little Red Riding Hood,' 1909.

Arthur Rackham, ‘Little Red Riding Hood,’ 1909.

That brings me on to an aside. Wild. Rewilding. Commendable. Worrying. Potentially. There is something to applaud in the move but there is also meddling afoot. Humans have buggered things up so let’s put a big sticking plaster on the weeping sore. Care required. I’m concerned that a barrier is strengthened between us (culture) and them (wild). We will know where we are (here, safe) and they (wild) are over the big fence (there, dangerous). It seems to ignore the wild in the human. This doesn’t mean wild as in degenerate behaviour (whatever that is) where we have tabloid scaremongering about swarms of migrants and packs of hooligans. Doubly wrong as swarm and pack become synonymous with bad we offend both the humans and the non-humans. What I intend in the wildhuman is creativity, life force, unpredictability (Nietzsche territory). All things that are forbade in Britain™…but not in #Britain? Rewilding is definitely a positive in its challenge to homogenisation…just don’t start carrying out an Impact™ analysis of the process (7 out of 10 Daily Mail readers say that they have been scared by a wolf in the last six months).

So, we are getting rid of nature. Well, the easy sort of nature at least. And while we are at it lets throw out anthropocentrism too. And the subjective I. So what is this thing running in the landscape and if it does need to run then why does it then have to report that run? There is something happening here around machinic assemblages (Deleuze and Guattari) that it is filtered through some remnant phenomenology (late Merleau-Ponty via Abram). Somewhere amongst the peaks and troughs of the HRM and PS read-outs there is a wealth of geology, weather, sounds, flora and fauna to be discovered. To become.

Downland_swardThanks to our guest poster this month: a section of South Downland sward. Normal service will

Foxtrot Oscar

Warhol, Andy. 'Dance Diagram [5] (Fox Trot: "The Double Twinkle - Man")', casein and graphite on canvas, 1962. http://andywarholposters.blogspot.co.uk/2009/07/dance-diagram-5-foxtrot-right-turn-man.html

Warhol, Andy. ‘Dance Diagram [5] (Fox Trot: “The Double Twinkle – Man”)’, casein and graphite on canvas, 1962.

I’d like to say that I have been twirling and gliding gracefully through the field of my enquiry. But I haven’t. I’ve been taking steps but most are sideways at best. The vast majority are backwards. A backing away. Or perhaps it’s more of a bouncing off. I’ve been ‘boffed’ (readers of Pooh will know what I mean).

So, I’ve gone from potential dance hall triumphs to throwing dad-dance shapes in the river – floating on my back helplessly downstream. On my back, looking up. I’m looking at the sky. I’m looking at air. I’m in the air, aren’t I? Air. That monad? Like light (Turner) and language (insert name of favourite poet here) air is surely a monad [draws target on soul and awaits consequences]. It’s a binder that resists us. A binder that resists. A tautological binder.

I’m looking for something that isn’t socially formatted but somehow overrides the culture/nature binary. Yet I use those cultural precepts. I’m an artist after all. Landscape is the method – look (and it was traditionally only looking that was ‘allowed’) at a view and then core sample it. That’s it, there, right where you are looking: with the cattle neatly arranged in the foreground, a ruined castle on the bluff just off-centre, a beautifully arching tree-frame, a backdrop of wild mountains and an appealing glow of sunlight to draw in the viewer. [That’s interesting. Who is the viewer? The painter of views or the one that views them?]. Clunk. Ouch. Heavy, cracked varnish. I can’t get to that art light, but there is something all around me that does perhaps bind me to it.

Landscape is of course a sociocultural figment. There is no landscape in nature. Indeed, nature knows nothing of Nature. It’s about framing. A big FO gilt frame that keeps us out of nature and nature out of us. Never the twain shall meet. But art is what I ‘know’ and landscape too. But every time I think I have a lead to follow I’m boffed by terms and movements with more than their fair share of baggage. Bags full of exotic stuff, wild and wonderful fruit. Fruit that are beginning to go off and I will never taste. Never wanted to taste anyway. So there. What is it with all this factionaISM?

Surely nobody can own the air though? Step, step, step, slide. Boff.

[Oh, and I’ve been flicking through the pages of Nietzsche’s notebooks too:

When one speaks of humanity, the idea is fundamental that this is something that separates and distinguishes man from nature. In reality, however, there is no such separation: “natural” qualities and those called properly “human” are indivisibly grown together. Man, in his highest and most noble capacities, is wholly nature and embodies its uncanny dual character. Those of which his abilities which are awesome and considered inhuman are perhaps the fertile soil out of which alone all … humanity can grow.

Nietszche, Friedrich. Homer’s Contest. 1873.

Whatever that means.]