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... (not just tree roots)
Upcycled Bramble root - trophy from the old orchard, set in
cob £35 plus P+P
Rosewood root ready for new home as a bookend or sculpture in her
own right £45 plus P+P
To purchase either of the above Random Root Sculptures, please email me
@ sarah@orchardbarn.org.uk
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NFS (Normal for Sarah) 29th
March 2019
A big grin spreads across my face.
I’ve just pulled well
washed roots out of my washing machine. Most people accidently leave
coins in
their clothes. I leave random roots in mine. How could I have not
noticed
them? Coins are small and unobtrusive. These curly wurly tree roots
stem the
width of my hand, and there isn’t just one, but two!
When? I ask myself did my transition
to tree scavenger
begin? Why have I kept these land locked driftwood? How,
do I plan to use these small but perfectly formed roots? These are the
earth mysteries I grapple with this morning when I should be doing
other more sensible stuff.
Rational answers are far from
uppermost in my head, but no
surprise there. Increasingly I follow a different call, it’s an earthy
mud
coloured thread that leads the creative in me to craft without
questioning. Definition
isn’t forthcoming. Sculptures are.
My day-to-day life with a mattock
brings me into contact with
the underworld. Life beneath my feet. A place inhabited by roots. Tree
tendrils
creep, crawl, coerce and cultivate lesser particles of earth on their
journey of
growth. Held tightly in place by gravity, the soil of substance holds
trees
upright, and captures my imagination big time.
This week I have been digging out
alongside the footings of
the Long House. Tree roots criss-cross the
trench like barbed wire. Bigger roots
infiltrate the foundations. I wrestle with roots the size of my wrist,
struggling to remove them from the brick work. The resulting root is
beautiful
in its own right, and not just because it no longer snakes its way
through the
footings.
Now there’s an interesting shift in
my perception that
happens during this rooting out process. At
some stage in the sawing, axing, mattocking
and muttering the root morphs from being ‘the problem’ and becomes ‘a
resource’. I cease to be
digging an errant root,
but seek to harvest a unique and beautiful piece of natural wood. ….
And
so it is that I’ve inadvertently
washed my last two
trophies. They are sitting on my draining board with my washing up. Am
I mind mergingly mad? Hmmmm - yes, I feel sorry for my poor washing
machine, but simultaneously amused by the
accidental laundering of my hard won work spoils.
As for their next life, I’ll
keep you posted.
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