I found out a lot of interesting facts lately.
Grandmothers feed the young ones sugar and warn the neighbours of danger. Reckless youths drink too much, shed too many leaves and spend too much time in the sun. Those in their prime wait for the aged to fall and take their place.
Did you think I was referring to trees? Far from the stoic, static beings with trip-hazardous roots and a place to carve your initials, trees are amazingly communicative and collaborative, sharing resources, knowledge and constantly battling for light and space.
Whispering Trees is a new mini collection of paintings both in size and scale - inspired by the intimate connections trees share with each other and the landscape, both above and below the ground.
These paintings were all inspired by Ben Rawlence's stunning book The Treeline, a journey through the northern reaches of the world and exploration of the changing lives of trees on the front line of climate change.
I am searching for the upper limit of the forest, but where is the forest? Scotland's forbidding hills, rank upon rank of shadowed slopes rising out of the mist, are such a durable a sight in collective memory and culture it is almost impossible to imagine them otherwise, and yet Britain was once, briefly, an island of trees. Caledonia, as it was named by the Romans, means "wooded heights," but its "great wood" has become a mythical thing. Scotland's bare hills are both epitaph and warning: this is where the commodification of nature leads.
I always underappreciated trees. I love woodlands and forests, but I explored them as a whole, fascinated by the way the light dances across pathways or how the canopy hisses as the wind fights its way through the spring bloom. I love walking through them, but only recently have I learned to slow down and study each tree.
I never stopped to look down at the roots, the network of every tree and how the forest is all connected to each other the way a rural village centres around its pub or post office. I didn’t know how to tell one tree species apart from another.
As soon as I started reading I was inspired to start painting, and though each piece has a story connected to the book, they are also able to be enjoyed and appreciated without knowing the science. Here are some of the diverse characters of the north that deserve their own epic poems and tall tales.
Meet "Granny" the first of “Whispering Trees”
Mature trees often transport carbon underground to help the saplings, and in old age, roles are reversed and the young trees take care of their grandparents.
“Holding Hands Till Spring”
There's a lot more going on underground than simply taking up water and nutrients. Many species of trees share a mycorrhizal network of fungi and roots, that allows them to share resources and to send chemical signals to each other when they are threatened by predators, disease or fire.
“The Final Thaw”
The whole walk was shrouded in mist, until I got to the path beside the gardens. The mist lifted, and so did my spirits as I saw my favourite spot as I'd never seen it before, flooded, frosty, yet blooming with white blossoms. This is "The Final Thaw" - a little pinch of spring just bravely peeking through the floodwaters.
“Little Larches” Turning the tundra spectacularly yellow each winter, and facing all of the trials at the very top of the world. These are the inspiring stories I love to capture.
“Old Oak”
There’s an intimate connection ancient trees share with each other both above and below the ground. They can lay dormant or dead for years, holding on and surviving in a state of symbiosis until conditions are favourable.
The Treeline is an empathetic, honest and comprehensive look at the state of the forests in the far north, the very limit of their growing range, and a latitude that is shifting in unexpected ways, and a must read for you if you love Robert McFarlane and Peter Wohlleben.
Thanks for reading and following along!