Helen Elizabeth Kuumbi |Artist| Cornwall
Walking with the stones
Dark Skies and Ancient Dartmoor: Residency blog
Group Residency, November 2024, Bellever YHA with Mayes Creative
Drawing Blind and reading the Invisible
On the first full day we visited a number of the monuments in the complex at Bellever, with Carolyn introducing us to some the ideas in her specialist field Archeoastronomy. My first approach when I had previously considered these spaces is to look outwards to the landscape and context. How does the built monument relate to the wider landscape, are there shapes and forms that mirror, connect or seem to be in a dialogue with each other? The veil of mist that shrouded the stones that day forced a change in approach. The mist stripped away the complexity of the landscape and distilled the monuments to their most basic forms. The stone loomed from the mists like figures; guides across the moors. It was the experience of drawing at night-time in the mist that that had the greatest impact. Pisky-led initially, once I drawing I was virtually blind to my surroundings. Sound became the dominant sense; and instead of following edge my pencil traced the movement and sound that surrounded me; tumbling stream and wind through the spruce and fir. This led me onto thinking about how I approach a space when I come to draw; to take a more phenomenological approach. To approach a new subject is to immerse oneself in the space and explore what can be understood from that subjective experience, and to utilise all senses.
Situating Monuments
I have been reading Chris Scarre (2002) ‘The dialogue between built form and landform: monuments and landscape’ in Monuments and Landscape in Atlantic Europe, as a way of looking at the monuments that I have been recently exploring Along the Atlantic fringe of Western Europe, the regions and countries with a shared Celtic heritage - there is a shared prehistoric culture of stone monuments; circles, menhirs and chambered tombs. A number of the observations and ideas put forward by Scarre (2002) strike a chord and open up some new lines of intrigue. For example, Scarre (2002) discusses how the intrinsic qualities of the landscape inform the visual and physical properties of the built monument. There is a relationship between the built monuments and the natural features of their landscape; a connection or a mirroring. This is in terms of the materiality and also the spatial characteristics of the sites which can capture or reference natural form but embed human elements within. However, what is not considered here is those sites where stone shave been moved many miles; here there is a disjunction created. Scarre also raises a question which can make us reconsider the significance of any reading of a monument within its landscape setting; to what extent are we a modern framework of “natural” and “cultural” on prehistoric culture. There may not have been this same distinction between human and natural forms – did they see themselves consciously imposing, or mirroring ‘nature’ or simply continuing to shape a world that they were part of. Natural landscape features may have been considered or played a role in the prehistoric cultures; were unusual topographic features used in symbolic or ritual ways? Were these feature mistaken as cultural/built artefacts from previous occupiers of the land – i.e. the tors as ‘castles’. I often think we do not give prehistoric communities credit in terms of their understanding of the world – but this idea did make me remember a discussion I overheard with two people trying to determine how the Cheesering at Minions was built; it is geological feature.
Connected landscapes: ancient and modern
We explored, as a group and individuals, the ancient ritual complex at Merrivale. At either end of the double stone avenues at Merrivale are distinct terminals; blocking stones and gateway pillars. These features affect how the monuments interact with the wider landscape. The blocking stones form terminal points; have we reached an end, was it an act of closure? The pillars at the western end form a gateway through which the setting sun streams, but also the high granite moorlands in Cornwall can be viewed. This connects the site to the similar landscapes of Kit Hill, Caradon hill, Kilmar tor and Bodmin moors in the distance. Is this sense of distance a misconception? We tend to think of the modern world as connected and well-travelled, and the ancient world as small. However, the archaeological record evidences goods moving vast distances across these landscapes and that implies people crossed them also. Landscapes were connected and distance was not the obstacle we may assume.
Opening my eyes to the night sky
One assumption I carried into this process that has subsequently been altered is that alignments between stone monuments and the sky were exclusively solar. Sunrise and sunset –their movement across the calendar year were the alignments I thought people studied and sought. I had not considered before the existence of helical alignments. Perhaps the arrogance of the sun, its strong contrasts and none-subtle impact makes us oversee the subtler beauty of slower procession of the stars in the night sky. Many of the stone circles on Bodmin more have solar alignments. Stannon stone circle on Bodmin moors has a May-day alignment; a day known as a cross quarter day as it sits half-way between the equinox and solstice. I thought that perhaps, the enduring significance of May day to rural communities probably conveys the importance of this point in the year – the arrival of summer. The position of the stars, relative to our viewpoint, changes over time. There is the annual cycle, and a much longer cyclic change with the earths tilt over 41,000 years. A helical rising is when a constellation first appears in our night sky, and this first appearance and position on the horizon, it is believed by those who have studied this phenomena, is denoted by the positioning of key stones in some of these ancient monuments. I did wonder about how disconnected we, even I, had become from our night skies. I perhaps have a privilege over many in this country for an appreciation of the dark, night sky having the opportunity to see the stars being both based rurally, and finishing work often in the early hours – yet my knowledge of constellation let alone their risings throughout the year is lacking. I talked to my husband about this, who interestingly said; when he sees Orion rising he knows his birthday is just around the corner.
Morning rising: drawing blind
I left the hostel at first light so that I could be out on the moors at sunrise. My walk took me along the East Dart, with the conifer plantation looming from the mists on its far bank. I set myself a game to play; focusing on one sense at a time whilst I drew. The trees hushed, the birds chimed a cacophony passing the lead between each other as the favoured song-post was exchanged, the stream sung in harmonic polyphony. The gentle warmth crept across my skin, the slight tug of the shifting air chilled. There was a mustiness in the crushed bracken, a freshness to the mist. The fiery rust of beech leaves and yellow hue of willow contrasted with the dark columns of spruce and the blue of the clinging mist. I filled my sketchbook with swirling lines as I let my hand subconsciously follow each sense; it was a fantastic primer for the day ahead although I cannot say produces any drawings I thought I could work with further. Later, at Merrivale, with the fog lifting but still obscuring the wider landscape, I sat for a while with the stones. I moved each time perhaps a foot or two and got to know their shapes and forms, their textures and interplay. This enabled me to play with compositional ideas stripped back to the foundations of shapes, and lines; the complexities of the landscape nicely washed out.
An evening walk focuses the senses
Another night time walk, into the forest at Bellever but with the river somewhere in the surrounding soundscape. We used a timer this time; setting durations for the blind drawing task. The enforced duration in which to listen and draw was particular useful to someone like me who needs some time to settle and be attuned, more adept to wondering what is over the next horizon. Time can slow when you attune to every sound with an intense focus. The soundscape of a landscape will always have temporal and spatial dimensions; time must pass to realise a sound, which will place somewhere in relation to the listener. Something visual can be experienced over time, but that is not essential. This made me consider the temporal dimension of visual art; how is a painting experienced over a time duration, how can time be represented in a painting?
A sunrise visit to Grimspound
The soft rising hug of fog encases you within the nook of the falling hills. There is a slow and undulation swell to the landscape and a sense of a mass above. This place is hidden, I am hidden – and there is something reassuring in that invisibility. The air is still; the fog seems to dissipate in patches without movement granting a glimpse of a horizon. Patience is required; the rust red bleeds through the dewy blue and the reveal is slow. Day lifts piece by piece. My relationship with the sky and atmosphere is more present and significant here; it is an active entity that determines by moment by moment experience. The transition to day is a patient process of awakening, that happens every day. Yet when I sleep on the moors, I do not dream.