My eco-printing practice has become rather arrhythmic. Often I do not begin working until 5pm, sometimes 7 or 8. My life, at present is a complex mix of living in tiny, impermanent dwellings, such as yurt and tents, in a search for a way to live a simple yet rich life that is connected to the more than human world. This journey, I undertake with my three children and the various others who companion us along the way.
What keeps some form of practice in this particularly organic shape of life is knowledge that each Sunday I will have a market and so each week, I must eco-print my wares.
The simultaneous gift and bane of this practice for me is the way my internal state seems to be mirrored in the prints I produce. This is wonderful when the more palatable tones of human experiencing are expressed and trickier when the more shady sides reveal themselves. When someone procures a work that I have dyed, I like to share a little of its story of creation.. So I have taken to dyeing works to wear when I feel grounded and hopeful.
This is not to say that an array of other complex feelings are not sitting alongside when I work, but I am mindful to create wearable art from this place. Art-as-inquiry pieces are a whole other story. Here I cannot help but stay with the shadier side of experiencing.
On this particular day, it is not until early evening that my children, their best friend and I wander up our garden path to the car to go to the forest to gather windfall and bracken, before making our way to the studio for the evening. This evening we are making our way to the Yarra Ranges National Park, just a couple of minutes up the end of our street. We alight from the car and run into the forest, this patch is familiar to us all. The boys disappear around the corner of the track and my daughter and I make our way, more slowly behind them, gathering bracken as tall as she.
I am in the middle of renovating a caravan to travel in and I am physically tired. I would love to curl into little spiral and slumber for a few months on this forest floor. It feels ancient, expansive and protective in here. Yet I am aware of the necessity to create works and the excited calls of my children down the track and so the months of hibernation must wait.
An authentic position, in honour of my depleted state however, seems to be to simply not rush the gathering and to only gather what feels resonant. What is resonant are all the fallen leaves that have bronzed in their decay. Perhaps I am drawn to their enviable position of sinking in to the earth to rest, the inextricable link to an ancient cycle that I wish was more evident in my life. I do not know. It is simply enough to not coerce myself to dye with brighter leaves simply because we are in summer and people like bright colours, and rather stay with what feels true for today.
I reach my children, huddled down around a patch of stinging nettle plants. They know how to identify it and more thrillingly, how to pick and roll the leaves to eat without being stung. After a precarious feasting on nettle they make their way to the creek which is running strong and fashion little bowls from leaves to scoop up the fresh water with to drink. Some, less successful in this technique simply immerse their faces in the little waterfalls. They are exhilarated as they meet some basic survival needs in the forest, and I feel a surge of energy race through me that such precious moments exist when I am working.
We make our way back to the car and to the studio, they for an evening of adventuring in the park and studios and I for an evening of bundling these weathered leaves and bracken. Wrapping them around rusted metal into little beds of silk and wool is deeply satisfying, and although my fatigue sits alongside me, the whim of these nestled creatures and joy of the children gently carries me along.
I return to the studio a week later with the children again and they take the pot of darkened bundles outside to unwrap and rinse. It is not often that they want to be a part of the process, but these bundles they have an affinity for and it is with gusto that they unwrap. Dark, rich prints of bronze and rust adorn the pieces that amaze and inspire us all.
The majesty and mystery of decay in the forest is upon their skins of silk and wool, and I am reminded, most keenly of the value of dyeing with full attention to what is evocative in the moment. It’s an ongoing life lesson the relationship between disciplined and inspired work, and I am thankful that for this batch of bundles, they carried one another.
~ Jacqui
