Bramble Box, Spring 2025 – ongoing

Softwood cube, plant pots, brambles, cotton sheet, seaweed sheets, water, sunshine.  1000*1000mm

When is nature ‘unnatural’? Are the topiary effects of the seventeenth and eighteenth century any more natural because they are organic in their form? An ongoing experiment which started with a mosscube (see other projects) and was an attempt at creating something longer term as David Nash had with his Ash trees. 

It went on to become a writing obsession.  Some excerpts below:

Letters to the brambles

Bramble…, you scratched me. It didn’t actually hurt, it just left a mark and it tingles.  

I suppose I did tie you up, I just wanted to mould you a bit, sculpt you, bend you, weave and wend you.

You are just so pliable, you bend so well, you lend yourself to it. I could tie you up in a bow: you’d be the perfect present.  But I rather fancy you as a fountain: a kind of rushing, flowing thing, all tied up in knots in the middle, but busting out, escaping as if you really wanted to go somewhere fast, but can’t make up your mind and so decide to go in all directions at once.  A giant wave (a giant weed).  

Maybe I should jewel you, put rings on your fingers, beads for you to wear, gild your leaves, spangle your thorns- sharp and cut like flint- bury your feet in stones, string your berries and hang them out like bunting. 

It is not your fault.  I took you and I put you in a pot.  I can see you don’t like to be contained. Your growth isn’t as vigorous as it would normally be, though you are sending out legs.  I’m sorry about the ties too.  Just enough to hold you, not a tight hold, as a mother might a child.  I think I will call them guidance loops …or steerance stays. Handcuffs? What? Shackles?

You scratched me. Not a deep scratch. I’ve heard the wrong scratch can be fatal.  No blood was drawn, just a few marks on my arm. Did I deserve it? Maybe. You did hurt me, You wild thing.

Fitness for the brambles

You need to get ready. I need to prepare you, you have a bright future ahead of you, there will be times of darkness, and paths blocked.  But seek out the light, the moisture, the air; breathe.

Winter is coming

I have sheltered you from the scorching sun and your leaves did not brown, did not wither. You are still there. Dig your roots deep and get ready for the burn of the hoary frost. It bites harder than the sting of a bee, yet blankets you from the cold.  Your cells may freeze, expand and shatter. But some will stretch out like elastic – expanding till you feel your membranes rupture. Rupture. Rapture. Expand. Ex-pand! Yes, some will survive. Duck down, dig deep. Build a wall, maybe the ground will be too hard, to the warm air!  Rising. Dig down, dig deep or climb up.  Do what you have to. 

Brambling

Are you aware of your fortunes? I can bet they weren’t so smooth. So pointed was the disappointment of the hour, so deserved was your youth: an unruly jungle.

Rest your hand on the knocker – its shininess depends.  

You carry on your shoulders the economies of time, date and volume.  

Embrace the grass and enter the belt: You took it on the chin- from the gym to the classroom.  Your neighbours shouted out the invasion of the pitches, you, snatching sundried skin.