Helen Elizabeth Kuumbi |Artist| Cornwall
Sunrise at the Stones
Self-directed residency, West Penwith, April 2025
“The life of a region depends ultimately on its geological substratum, this sets up a chain reaction which passes, determining character, in turn through its streams and wells, its vegetation and the annual life that feeds on this and finally the type of human being attracted to settle there”
Ithell Colquhoun
Tregeseal Stone circle: If only they could speak
The clinging circles of night and strong morning rays bring forward the forms and textures of the rocks. The stones are courser, with chunkier crystals and grittier to the touch, than their Dartmoor counterparts. It is as if they have not been smoothed by time but scoured by the harshness of the relentless wind. I experience a moment of calm as the night departs, but with the expected warmth of the day comes battering sea winds carrying the scent of salt. The sun reacts to each stone a little different; increasing the sense of the curve. The lichens are a patchwork of colours; ancient colonisers clinging to existence. I wonder what is written in the patterns of the lichen, in the lines of the stone; if only they could speak. I arrive at Tregeseal just after sunrise, greeting the new day from the tor above. The remaining circle once had two sisters which would have been located in the fields; four stones of one can be seen in the hedge. It is sad to know that one was cleared as recently as 1961. A barrow beside the footpath to the common required some exploring, and two more impressive ones were located nearby. One with a ring of kerbstones and the other with its capstone still in situ.
Sketching outdoors
There are distractions and interruptive thoughts I must let slip away before I can fully settle into that space. Greeting the sunrise before the any of days’ demands start and a good wild-walk where one only need talk to the birds is a good primer. In these quiet, early hours the modern world seeps away – there is nothing but what is present and tangible in that moment. That moment has no time, no parameters or bounds, no number to quantify.
With patience – comes serendipitous rewards. Sit long enough in quiet peace, so you merge with the natural world and it will remerge for you; the birds return.
The holed stones of Kenidjack: who needs Hepworth?
The holed stones sit at the reveal of the tor, just north east of Tregeseal stone circle. The holes encourage looking through. There is a contrast between the slow, smooth working and precision of the holes and the roughness and random shapes of the stones that they sit in. The stones are layered with lichens of all colours: buff, pink, green, grey, chocolate and charcoal. There is peace in the absence of human life. The flurry of birdlife and energy of sea wind give the landscape a vibrancy as it morphs into a new day.
Zennor and Sperris: I built this for you my friend to try and keep you safe
I rose at first light to visit two quiots nestled amongst the knarled gorse and heather, perched high on the coastal moors above Zennor. Here you feel at the worlds edge. Pink lights up the highest tors first as I climb in their shadows. Zennor hill rises steeply from the coastal patchwork that pushes into the Atlantic below. As I reach the top of the tor, a Red Kite sweeps up and settles on the wind. It hangs silently and circles the tor. The sea wind tussles the skeletons of last year’s bracken. There is a bleakness and wildness – as if abandoned and left to the ocean. I wonder if Sperris quiot could be the least visited of these ancient monuments; its isolation seemed so deep. Yet it has been disturbed, stones removed and re-used in walls and cottages. It may be alone but wasn’t always. The fragile heads of dog violet seek shelter against the stones and a pool of shadow rest in the open grave. From here you can see across to the mighty Zennor Quiot. Zennor Quiot is colossal: the type of structure that inspires tales of giants. The capstone has fallen but its immense size is impressive. It is a cave on the windswept plateu: sculptural and epic. I face the sun with my shoulder to the ocean.
Boscawen-un Stone circle: a sanctuary and a theatre
Nestled snug and I a slight bowl, there is shelter here. Although I first think that I miss the open space of the moorlands, I soon come to appreciate its sanctuary. This spurs me into thinking about the original landscape context of circles and how this affects our experience. Was the land managed – was it nestled in the scrub or offer wider views of the landscape? In its current context, the landscape is hidden but it serves as a theatre for the skies. Was this place a convergence of paths in the landscape; a place of shelter and gathering when travelling slowly through the untamed landscape. In a time before maps and street signs – it would be hard to miss this as a meet point. There is a prominent middle menhir. A kist set between stones shows phases of use. One stone is made of quartz; I explore its miniature crystal caves and get flashes of the sun as I move around it.