The Muse

’For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree.’

Herman Hesse

It is National Tree Week in the UK. So here is the tale of how one particular tree cast a lasting spell over this lost artist on the cusp of the New Year four years ago; of how she spoke to me and to countless others too.

On the cusp of a New Year a few years ago I met the ancient olive tree that finally broke a creative drought that had gripped me for years. ‘God’s fountain’ rained on my parched artist’s soul. (The Greek word for epiphany, Θεοφάνεια, breaks down into ‘theo’ [god], and ‘fanaiea’ [fountains])

The Muse

This tree emanated an almost tangible aura that touched me from 50 metres away. It washed over me like a wave, an irresistible force, profound, powerful and awesome, instantly understood intuitively, but only dimly comprehended intellectually.

I knew I had found my muse. I began sketching her gnarled and twisted limbs, the warp-and-weft of her tangled roots, her tattered amputations and her many textures. Working in her presence, I found that I could only tackle small parts of the complex labyrinth of branches and roots, and only for short stretches of time. Every nuanced texture contained centuries of history, palpable and prodigious.

Sketches in pen for the many varied textures in the tree.

As I drew I started thinking about the way history has etched itself on this ancient living being, just as our own layered histories leave their marks on us in our passage through time. She bears the evidence of her history openly, while we, on the other hand, hide ours behind a veneer of normalcy and youth enhancers. For all her 'imperfections,' she is perfect and powerful.

The next day I went back earlier in the day and as I worked I began to discover how the mantles of time have each left their own particular story. There are so many varied textures. Every one them, and every little detail, is evidence of a different event in the old tree's life - layers of time recorded in her very being. I felt overwhelmed by their complexity, almost helpless in my attempts to record them, and wholly dissatisfied in my striving to unlock the secrets that she guarded. Working from photographs later was easier, but the need to return to her periodically, to re-affirm an invisible and intangible bond persisted. It's the difference between having a telephone conversation with someone, and actually meeting them. It's an elusive feeling, something that's indefinable but very real.

The work began tentatively with small, rough explorations in different media, until I girded my loins to progress to larger works. The intention had been to move through a series of drawings by way of preparation for subsequent paintings, but somewhere along the way that plan was abandoned. I became more and more immersed in large drawings that I had begun to make on a heavily textured handmade paper using Derwent Inktense pencils, dipping pen, watercolour, gouache, charcoal, chalk pastel and red earth pigment.

The Earth Within Her

So much history locked into every limb and every broken, weathered branch.

In the end, and by the time of the exhibition nine months after our first meeting, I had created eight large drawing-paintings, as well as a number of the smaller preliminary sketches and drawings. Afterwards, when my daughter asked for a smaller version of one as her birthday present, I made a series of five watercolours for her to choose from.

And, just as a tree burrows its roots deep into the ground and stretches its branches up to touch the sky, so this old olive tree’s influence has mysteriously radiated out into the wider world. More and more people became involved. My students discovered inspiration in trees and created some interesting work; a Facebook Group,Talking Trees, that I created gained traction as people’s awareness of trees was heightened; people began sending me accounts of significant trees in their lives; the very young children in a local kindergarten did a colourful painting project on trees; we created paper leaves in a printmaking workshop for wishes that would be hung on the tree in the garden at the restaurant where the event took place; and at the exhibition opening tree was the resonant motif for the inspired song and sound that resonated in the evening air.

Trees and Souls, the book

A book was spawned too. Trees and Souls, is a collection of short stories originally written in German that I was asked to translate and illustrate. It grew from being a straight translation to becoming a fascinating fusion of cultural, linguistic and gender perceptions, and is presented in both languages side-by-side on every page. They are at times enchanting imaginary ventures into our relationship with trees, ventures that have been sparked by encounters with trees; at times sobering reminders of the more sinister histories locked into the fibres of those long-lived witnesses of our existence.

I recorded the exhibition at Aubergine Restaurant in San Miguel, Ibiza, in a short video during a quiet moment of the opening night. It ends on a view of the Wish Tree where visitors hung the wishes that had written out on the paper leaves that we had prepared in a printmaking workshop before the event. You can see it here.

Science has revealed to us how trees co-operate and collaborate, not only with each other but also within their own ecosystem, for the greater good of all.

We would do well to follow their example.