With Water, a long-term collaborative project with photographer Christian Kipp. Work originated within the liminal ground of the foreshore within the tidal zone of the Thames in the heart of the ancient city of London. With Water has since moved on through the watery environments of the wilder places of Norfolk, Wales, Ireland, Scottish Islands and most recently Shetland.
During each period of collaboration, we camp out, to live closely with the land and the elements, and to be informed by the cycles of light and dark. We take time to develop a physical relationship with place, we immerse ourselves within the environment and develop a visual, physical, sensory relationship to land and to water through walking, and exploring, through texture, surface, scent, tide, inside nooks, crannies. We listen to each landscape’s relationship to water we hear the land speaking of the past as the water moves in the present.
With Water is available to buy in book form and has been shown as installation.
We cannot remember who said that the day had begun.
We cannot remember how far back in time it was and when we spoke.
We cannot remember how long it took.
We cannot remember what we has left behind that day.
We cannot remember how to find it.
We cannot remember the way.
We cannot remember how long it took the water to move.
We cannot remember what the sky has said only a moment before.’
She senses movement, hears a continuum of whispered memories.
In time the waters will carry her with them,
float her from the bedrock, suspend her over the sleeping pool.
The somnambulist may not know that she is waiting,
may not feel the moment that she slips into herself.’
As they listen they stand soft backed as shell shed crab,
merging between the ribs of ancient rock.
They gaze into the thick air as it softly calls in the remains of the daylight,
calling it to melt into the thick green paint of cave plant.
She feels the shine of her own life opening towards the light.
Her breath moves with the call, her sense waken.
Hearing moves into the vastness around her.
She listens beyond her own breath into the greening darkness.’
Wind catches the edges of the stane and mutters of dwarves
We sit long and quiet immersed in sound
The rustle and catch of wind
The hum of an old song
The scrape and boom of glaciers moving across the valley
We hear the echo of the hollowing out of this place for death
Sense the movement of ceremony
We see the scribble of grasses against the deep marks of time
We are quiet enough to hear the past
The song of the wind is scored by grasses
Their fragile prose written on stone
I hum the song from deep within the body’