hawthorn ink
a slow, shared encounter + autumn ink + WRITE CLUB dates
A few days before the peak of midsummer in June I brought together a small group of colour-curious folks on a Bristol industrial estate, to hang out with the plant Hawthorn and make ink. This was the Summer seasonal COLOUR DAY at The Engine Rooms, and it was a gem of a day.
One key thing about botanical ink making that I often pop into conversation is that plant encounters in the environs of urban and industrial spaces are some of my most delightful meetings. There is a wide variety to be found here. Supermarket car parks are a particular favourite spot to forage and often full of colour bounty. Living in a rural space is a not a pre-requisite for deep and mysterious dialogues.
On that summer Saturday, once we were settled in and tea had been drunk, the homemade cake had been nibbled (thank you to studio host Naomi for these!) we took a short walk to the nearby field and greeted our plant comrades.
Like with any relationship, getting to know a plant takes time.
The relationship can change depending on the day.
Sometimes you’re in the mood to connect.
Sometimes the plant friend is giving you the cold shoulder.
Unravelling the idea that we humans are the centre of the world, and all other plants and animals are subservient/lesser/in service to us, is a radical pondering. Nature is not just a resource, and we are seeing and sensing this more and more as it fights to regulate itself after nearly two centuries of heavy industrialisation.
When gathering plant material to make ink, the gathering part can be a more intentionally curious time than simply “see plant, take plant” if we let it.
It can bring new insights and understanding, and nurture a new or existing relationship we have with other than human beings.
This is how we began that day.
We greeted Hawthorn from afar. Saw how it sat in the hedgerow. Noticed how we felt. Whether we were drawn to it, or not. Drew it. Looked some more. Then we stepped a little closer. Then closer still, noticing its details. Checking it was ok for us to pick a few leaves. Consent is key. Making marks on the pages with our pens and pencils to depict it. Nothing fancy. Visual note-taking. Personal and private.
In those June days, Hawthorn is neither in its bright and delicate blossom, and neither is it bursting with heavy deep red fruit. The berries are beginning to form from the died back blossom, and it’s in transition. Neither virginal white nor sassy rouge. Green blending with the oak, ash and blackthorn around it. But nonetheless, it is steadily doing its thing. Being Hawthorn. In mid-june. In a hedgerow on the outskirts of Bristol. Next to two snorting horses. On a mizzly, humid day.
Focusing on working alongside one plant for the whole day gave space to a depth that was new to me when working with a group.
The subtle hues of its raw ink invited a deep enquiry with the colour-shifting metals and modifiers (added chemistry that changes the colour) and at the end of the day we returned to our patch of city green, and the Hawthorn we had met that morning, to draw, write and give thanks for the gift of this juicy colour encounter.
There will be more days like this ahead.
The gentle focus of attention on a single plant friend.
It changed me, that day. It broadened something. Widened something. Enriched something. Something that direct language cannot quite touch.
An intuited connection.
A sense.
An inkling.
I thought I knew Hawthorn pretty well, and it showed itself in a new light.
As with any relationship, we can never know another being completely. They will always surprise us if we can allow ourselves to be curious.
“When you learn to make things with your hands, you begin to awaken as awareness of the beauty and value of things in your life. Handmaking teaches us about slowness: the antidote to brevity and efficiency. It show us, through the patience and skillfulness of our own hands, what goes into a thing.
When we put those long efforts into bringing beauty into the world, we are honouring that which made us by creating as we have been created. We are tasught to respect the slow, attentive piecing together of the life we yearn for. Stitch by stitch, we apprentice the craft. We work in tandem with mystery, feeling it’s rhythms awaken in our bone memory. As the hands work, the mind is stilled and a greater listening is engaged as we drop down into the deep rhythm of devotion, where the world is in communion. The ferns unfurl, the daffodils trumpet, the rosebuds fatten, and the song of creation can be heard.”
Toko-Pa Turner. Belonging. Pg 163
WOULD YOU LIKE TO LEARN ABOUT NATURAL INK?
There will be more Bristol seasonal days like this in the NATURAL INK. diary very soon.
If a long weekend dive into all things landscape colour (botanical inks and earth pigment paint making) floats your boat, I am running a 3-Day Colour Deep Dive at Dove Studios Friday 13th - Sunday 15th October.
There is an additional invitation for you to bring a tent or campervan and spend the weekend in full immersion! Last year’s weekend was a delight.
I loved the ink weekend with you. Some things that I experienced were: relaxation, a sense of freedom from the busyness of my life so that I could immerse myself in creative experimentation and play. I really loved that we went for a walk, tuned into nature and then returned to the oak tree to use the oak gall inks to paint it. The company was great, the food lovely, the location very special. It felt like I’d given myself a really restorative treat. I felt inspired.
- Suzanne. October 2022
For those who wish to journey along from their own patch of green, wherever you are in the world, after launching the INK KITS + COLOUR COMMUNITY sessions at in-person events this summer, they are very nearly ready to rock online too.
I wish you moments of sweet plant encounters in amongst the summer fizziness, school holidays and heat/mizzle.
In colour camaraderie,
KJ
GOOD THINGs
WRITE CLUB is returning in the Autumn and will be running fortnightly online on Thursdays from September 14th to December 7th. 6.30pm-8.15pm GMT.
For full information check out here.
The Summer term was a blast and I’m looking forward to us writing through the autumn-winter together.
Connecting the indoor-outdoor life through the audio beauty of composer and pianist Masakatsu Takagi.
So I open up the windows and I play the piano, and maybe the birds are listening.
When I’m playing piano very loudly or very strangely, they sing very hard. If I’m getting quiet, quiet, quiet, they sing quiet, quiet, quiet. It sometimes happens. So I want to record everything, record the relationship between nature and my music.
And to sign off….
