Making art in a concrete world
14 September, 2021
My grandmother had a villa on a quarter acre section that was abundant with mature fruit trees. I have memories of lying on the grass in the sun, gorging myself on red, green and black grapes, plums, apples, mandarins, feijoas, kiwifruit and loquats. They were planted and cared for in a time when popping up to the supermarket wasn’t an option.
The last time I drove past the house, the new owners had removed all the trees and replaced them with a swimming pool surrounded by concrete and and a lifeless lawn.
The more compact and concrete our living spaces become, the more disconnected we become from nature. I see this as a species crisis, especially for creatives. To create, you need space and materials. A renter’s life is never permanent. I could never have a garden full of pigment-bearing plants, and every time I buy new art supplies, I always consider how easy/hard it will be to pack and transport them to a new flat.
When I am making ink, I feel alive. The anticipation and the rush I get from dripping a natural pigment onto fresh white paper has given me the will to live. It sounds dramatic, but I can’t think of any other words to describe it. People need an emotional, experiential connection to see the need for change1. I can’t see society radically changing anytime soon, but I feel comfort in the changes I have made, to consciously be more connected to nature. And even with all my fear and anxiety about being surrounded by concrete, I will still be buying a woad plant once lockdown ends, and I will carry it from flat to flat it in a pot.
- Keith Recker, True Colors: World Masters of Natural Dyes and Pigments (Loveland, Colorado: Thrums Books, 2019), 227.