Today I am meeting with fellow members of the Earthly Practices Research group (MMU) as part of a “Field Day” organised by Rowanna Lacey Ewings. Our group, broadly speaking, is interested in ‘design thinking and practices rooted in interconnection and reciprocity with natural systems’ (1) so we thought it appropriate to put theory into practice.

1. Departure: After frantically amassing sound recording equipment from my studio, I cycled into town and jumped on a train to Hepden Bridge, a small town north of Manchester. As as someoen relitivly new to full-time academic life, these moments of creative space now seem to occur only rarely, in precious but often hectic pockets of time. I find it hard to give myself space away from the pressure of development and production, and to give myself time for open exploration. I found myself on the train actively trying to slow my thoughts and set my intention, opening a space for what lay ahead.

2. Meeting: We had arranged to meet at the station; gathering around a picnic bench, we were given a map and a risograph print Rowanna had created as orientation outlining the route and the numerous encounters organised along the way. . From here, we walked, meandering, in a slow drift away from the noise of the village. Talking about what we saw around us, sharing stories, and reflections. Looking at what we speculated might be a ‘glacial erratic’ made us think about the layering of histories, the strata and the lay of the land, the memory it retains from the glacial to the post-industrial.

3. Rock: As we talked, I looked out across the valley and tried to think from the perspective of that mossy rock. In terms of deep time, I tried to imagine how the landscape has changed, the deforestation that occurred, the trees that regrew, and how the valley may have been shaped by water and the humans who thrived around this precious resource. Thinking about how the lansdcape might have eroded, I later looked up the geology of the landscape, discovered that sands and mud were deposited here, in what might have been a tropical river delta when Britain was closer to the equator, later becoming the Millstone Grit sandstone and mudstone, before glacial meltwaters smoothed this landscape(1).

4. Geese: The day before, I had attended an Eco-portics conference featuring h Ruth Padel, who spoke about her book ‘The Mara Crossing’(2), which is an exploration of migration. ‘Geese’ is about the migration of bar-headed geese flying over the Himalayas. Apparently, they can reach staggering altitudes of up to 8,000 meters, where oxygen and temperature levels are dangerously low. Why and how do they do this? Because they were flying that way BEFORE the Himalayas existed! This fact still astonishes me. Rather than change course, they slowly adapted and acclimatised physiologically over time. I wondered, while it’s clear how we impact the land, how will this land, in turn, shape us? How will our actions now shape future beings?

5. Farmer. Ann Jones spoke to us about her farming practice, her stewardship of the land and its animals, and the challenges of working with acid soil in the hills. The feeding or a population. Rowenea had pointed out an old peat track that cut through the landscape, while around it, sheep trails followed the land’s contours, paths etched over hundreds of years of farming. We sat on the remnants of an old wall, which had once been a mill pond.

6. Lichen. Up the road, we met Francis Stoakley, a lichen enthusiast armed with a wicker basket, wooden staff, and umbrella, who led us through the next section. I loved this because it was a lot like my own moss walking practice, but through a different lens attuned to a slightly different frequency. Again, we were momentarily transported here, sharing time with ancient organisms, which, like moss, are around 400 million years old. I noted some of the wonderful phrases and quotations she used to describe lichens: “Tiny titans of tenacity” and ”Pioneers of possibility” qualities, I think, are also shared with mosses. I placed a contact mic underneath some ‘Dog tooth’ lichen on the wall (growing with spiky cat’s tail moss), we gathered around it and shared the evanescent crackle it made as it rehydrated.

    

   

7. A field. This particular field has rested fallow for a few years; wildflowers and tall grasses sway gently in the hot air. Slowly making our way to the top of the hill, we arrive at a small area, scythed clear, and stop for lunch. A table had been prepapered with an array of artefacts unearthed on the site over the years.

8. Listening: We were invited to linger here, exploring and responding to the site: drawing, writing, talking. I chose to devote my time to listening intently. An object that drew my attention was a rusty hay baling fork. I attached a contact mic to this, transforming it into an acoustic probe. Offering it up to the wind, I gently tapped the prongs with grasses to hear its resonant vibrations, pure and clear despite its rusty appearance. Carefully pushing its prongs into the dense grass roots. I set the recorder to a high gain. Against a background of incessant rustling and white noise and crackle was a faint but distinct rhythmic pulsation, possibly an insect; a sound between a groan and a churp that I don’t have words to describe.

9. A spring: Apparently, they get all their water from a spring here, so I asked if we could find it. Placing mics on the soil and rocks surrounding it, we captured the most unexpected of sounds: a goblin-like growl, like a deep subterranean clock.

10. A blade of Grass: I listened through the gentle hush and susseration of the wind over the meadow, into a single grass blade; now I am taken down into the undergrowth, surrounded by the hollow clatter of its stem and the howl of the wind around its seedhead. Placing the contact mic on the stem of a thistle, next to it, I catch the faint rush of fluids drawing through the xylem in a rush of thirsty breaths.

     

Sound recording is very similar to capturing photos, as both require time. The subject gives back when we offer it our attention, stillness and patience. If we are lucky, its sound might unfold to us, or the image reveal itself. However, sound recording, perhaps more than photography, helps me stay still and see more deeply into and beyond the surfaces of the things I listen to. And this makes me think more broadly about artistic research and what it means to approach a subject (or site) with curiosity and an open mind without a predefined question. It is a luxury requiring space and time we are rarely afforded. I am grateful for these kinds of opportunities and for the people with whom I have shared them.

Please note that I have done my best to check the facts, but let me know if I got anything wrong!

‘This made me think about’ Is a phrase/ prompt I picked up the week previously from a workshop with Ann Light and the Embodied Experiences Research group. It helped me write this. Thanks to Jo Briggs for organising that one!

Embodied experiences web site: https://www.mmu.ac.uk/about-us/faculties/arts-humanities/research/groups/embodied-experiences

Find out more about my practice here: https://antonyhall.net/blog/

1)Earthly Practices website: https://www.mmu.ac.uk/about-us/faculties/arts-humanities/research/groups/earthly-practices”

(1) Geological deep time wormholes to get lost in…

Geology of the Bradford district

https://webapps.bgs.ac.uk/memoirs/docs/B06075.html

West Yorkshire Geology Trust: The Geology of Calderdale: https://www.wyorksgeologytrust.org/misc/Geology%20of%20Calderdale.pdf

(2) Ruth Padel (2012) The Mara Crossing: An exploration of migration in all its aspects, through poetry and prose.