ARTISTS TALKING

# 11 [30 November 2008]

Day 2

This morning I have a local herd of sheep for company. They efficiently finish off yesterday’s mowing job by chomping sagely through the grass.

I am planning to cut a series of narrow channels into the ground and fill them with red soil that I am collecting from the surrounding hills. The channels will be of varying depths: the first being six or so inches, the second slightly shallower and so on until the grass is barely disturbed. I anticipate the deeper, more substantial channels of earth to remain intact and in place for the longest.

My intention is to create a slowly evolving time-based piece in which one by one the lines of earth are dislodged, degraded or blown away according to their depth. I have chosen to keep the formation of these lines very simple, in part because the undulating ground itself provides organic curves and irregular shapes, but also because the straighter and cleaner these channels are now, the more noticeable the changes will be over the coming year.

The shed behind the chalet is home to a wealth of garden tools, most of them familiar, a couple distinctly medieval looking. One grizzly item in the corner looks like an experiment in primitive dentistry. Whether you are clawing, scooping or gouging there is something appropriate to be found here. I begin on the ground with a miniature, serrated saw that resembles a bread knife: it barely dents the surface. Reminding myself that I am not cutting into the springy bed of a Victoria sponge but a semi-frozen patch of land at 600m altitude in the middle of winter, I abandon this characterful although largely useless tool and opt for a trusty spade instead, sharpened with a flint. Within a couple of hours the four layers I was wearing are in a heap next to me, several colonies of worms have been invaded and a fair start has been made.

Jonathan and I go to collect a batch of earth. It is not until we are about to exit the car that Jonathan casually informs me hunting is permitted here at the weekends and those shrill whistles we can hear getting louder by the second are a call to the hounds. I rapidly shovel up soil whilst imaginary bullets zip past my ears and comfort myself with the notion that dying for one’s artistic endeavours is horribly clichéd and therefore cant possibly happen in real life. 

Rona Smith 

# 12 [1 December 2008]

Day 3

The morning frost melts rapidly under a glorious, cloudless sky. My string line has left a paper-thin frost free stencil across the grass which I follow with the spade. Tonight I will set this up purposefully for the following morning. The day is spent measuring, aligning and digging. I have begun with the deepest trench, it is hard work but satisfying and I am glad of the exercise. I discover that after cutting down with a spade, strips of earth can be peeled out of the ground like great caterpillars.

A local shepherdess who I met briefly the other day leads her sheep into the neighbouring field and pauses to ask me what Im doing. I rack my brains for remnants of GCSE French and begin by telling her I’m an artist - as if that explains everything. I manage to muster up a few comments concerning ‘la terre rouge’ and coupled with some meaningful hand gestures she seems satisfied, if a little bemused. By the end of the day I have dug two and a half trenches and half filled one of them. If I knew I was going to be spending the 1st of December in a vest top I would have brought my bikini.

Importantly for me, this project is a new one. Whilst it naturally relates to ongoing themes in my work, for example organic processes, evidence of passing time and responses to minimalism, this is my first installation piece to be completed outside and to respond to the elements in such a way.

I am interested in the faith that is required of the viewer when seeing this work after it has just been completed: for the first few months, the red lines in the ground will all appear identical and it is only until they begin to change and degrade that it becomes apparent they are of varying dimensions. The dramatic difference between the structure of the lines happens underground and initially out of sight.

Rona Smith 

# 13 [3 December 2008]

Day 5

Jonathan and I head out in the car on another soil collection trip. The road winds through the rising and falling land in a charmingly indecisive manner. The views of the hills are lovely and we snap photos from the car window. We arrive at our destination and hastily shovel soil into shopping bags lest the authorities catch us digging up the landscape. I hadn’t realised quite how much earth I was going to need until I observed the rapidly growing mountain of original soil that I’d turfed out from my trenches.

Back at the chalet. another curious local stops by to enquire after my apparently pointless activities. I explain what Im doing, not really giving much away due to my limited vocabulary. He looks at me with a quizzical expression then asks tentatively, ‘c’est tout?’ Yep that’s all! There’s an almost apologetic note in my voice, and regretting that I am unable to conjure up some sort of elaborate gazebo to appease him, I busy myself with the trowel.

Whilst the current cold weather slows me down a little, I am working at a steady pace and I think I may be finished by the weekend. This will leave me a few days to experiment with some other materials. I discuss with Jonathan an idea I have had inspired by a passage in the novel I am reading, Love In The Time Of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Set in a cholera ravaged Carribean island, the protagonist describes the family’s typical stone water filter that fail to purify drinking water and stop the spread of disease. There is a fair amount of sandstone in the area. I would like to experiment with the possibilities of ‘filtering’ or channelling water through slabs of the stone. It remains to be seen however whether this is possible or at all practical. 

Rona Smith

# 14 [4 December 2008]

Day 6

Today’s drizzle makes the going soggy. My channels are getting much shallower now so whilst I am having to snap the grass roots rather than dig then all up in one clump, the work feel like less of a challenge as there is less excess soil to be removed.

I discuss with Jonathan and Helen the practicalities of working with sandstone. Jonathan calls a geologist friend of his to ask his opinion. We are considering chipping a well into the top of a rock so a reservoir of water collects and then seeps through. I wonder, however, if it would evaporate before it even got a couple of inches down. It turns out that the stone in this area is so hard that a diamond drill bit would be needed to cut into the stone, and even then it is likely to split. This sounds all too familiar: for a previous project I decided I was quite capable of drilling holes into some sheets of glass with a diamond bit rather than pay to have it done professionally. After several days work all I had to show for my efforts was a large pile of smashed sheets and tears of frustration!

An amusing conversation follows, suggesting various inelegant ways in which the project could manifest successfully and I realise there is a danger of the work turning into something not far off from a science experiment, especially since the idea is in such an elementary stage, without clear intention.  

Just before sunset, mist coats the hills in cobweb-like drapes and I spend some time trudging about with my camera shooting a bathtub sheepdip in the field behind the chalet.

Rona Smith

# 15 [6 December 2008]

Day 8

Nearly seven trenches dug and filled: I’m getting there! Despite the repetitive nature of my task, it is certainly satisfying to watch the piece grow at such a rate. In contrast, it is quite alarming to watch the heap of earthen chunks that are being dislodged grow ever larger. I have been thinking during the week about the possibilities for this turf. I have considered leaving it where it stands as part of the work, to show evidence of what has happened, although I dont think this is really necessary. Perhaps it should be arranged into a new formation, to reflect the sense of ongoing process that is here in the work. The excess from one task becomes the object of the second, and so on. 

Jonathan shows me a great book about Mario Giaccomelli, an Italian photographer who documented rural life in Puglia and other regions of Italy. He created a series of black and white photographs of ploughed fields, taken from above. Some of these he has intervened with himself and created swirling scours in the land, others are as he found them. The linear markings in these fields are similar to those I am making here. I wonder how they wil compare in some months time. 

The highlight of today has to be the extraordinary sight of what I think is a sparrowhawk swoop down and snatch a small bird from the air just yards from my face. I hear the rapid beating of wings and look up just in time to witness the catch. A triumphant screech, and the magnificent bird is off into the hills. Fantastic. 

At the end of the day I have a wander across the meadow at the back of the chalet to enjoy a moody (and chilly) sunset. After talking with Helen, Jonathan and Sam, another artist who works in this part of the world, it is encouraging to see that it is possible to work successfully as an artist and live in a rural, relatively isolated community, a combination that I had never imagined to be very realistic. My hopes of getting away from the city certainly seem more achieveable than they did ten days ago.

Rona Smith

# 16 [9 December 2008]

Day 11

Today is our final trip to the quarry to collect red earth. It seems the perpetual shovelling of soil into fluorescent shopping bags has come to an end, a task that neither Jonathan or I are likely to miss. On our way back we pass by ploughed fields where crops have just been sown. The lines and colours are all too familiar. Back at the chalet there is more tearing clumps of earth from the ground and more hurling them onto the by now monumental pile.

It is very easy to get lost in your thoughts up here. I marvel at the fact that I have had face-to-face conversations of any substance with only two people for ten days. This is fairly remarkable for me as I live and work in London where even the studio is a sociable place, what with people dropping round to procrastinate and drink tea under the thin guise of discussing work.

In the evening, I go with Helen and Jonathan to a birthday dinner at their local friend Rudy’s. Rudy is a wonderfully charismatic German philosopher with an extremely long dinner table. All the twenty odd guests have brought their own dish and course after course of fish terrine, quiches, salads, pies and a colossal prune flan arrive at the table. I am bursting at the seams after half way through the lovely meal. It’s great to put faces to names and meet some of my current neighbours in St Louis, all of whom are very welcoming and will stop by to see the installation.  

Rona Smith

# 17 [12 December 2008]

Day 12

Drizzle, damp, mud, numb toes..and it’s finished. A horse in the neighbouring field surveys me stoically as I make the finishing touches to the last and shallowest line of soil which I have pressed on top of the grass without digging up any of the roots. Stenciling the outline with a couple of roof tiles, this has been the most delicate and painstaking part of the process and also the most ephemeral.

My last long-term project, a public art installation at Lumen United Reformed Church in London, was constructed for me by art fabricators. It is a change therefore to be back making the work myself, directly responsible and in control of its visual outcome -  the gruelling labour of a "real artist", as many (including my driving instructor) would believe!

Rona Smith

# 18 [12 December 2008]

Day 13

I awake to a light smattering of snow across my installation and a much thicker coating covering the surrounding hills. I am relieved to have braved the rain and completed the installation yesterday. I enjoy trudging about with my camera, the snow seems to have melted in the red channels leaving them stark against the white.

Since my work on the land has come to an end, the day is spent in Carcassonne with Jonathan and Helen and their two children Louis and Emilie. Carcassonne is a beautiful city inside a castle with a fairytale feel to it. The wind whips round the winding alleyways and we spot Santa several times as he diligently makes circuits around the streets with a bag of chocolates.  

I am tempted to describe these photos as images of the final piece, Timelines. It would be more appropriate however to describe them as photos of the 'beginning' of the work since the piece will be forever changing. The lines will become increasingly unsettled and unruly starting with the shallow sliver of soil across the grass and ending with the deepest inlay at the far end of the lawn.

Rona Smith

# 19 [12 December 2008]

Day 14

My short time spent here has been framed by snowfall either side. It seems rather apt that the patch of land on which I am working should begin and end in the same state - an undulating carpet of white.

A few photos snapped and then the stunning hour long drive through the mountains back to Perpignan. Jonathan will document the changing state of the piece over the months with photographs. It is a great thought to know that I am leaving something behind which will evolve in my absence.

I want to thank Jonathan and Helen for having faith in my work, for their fantastic support and help with this project and for making me feel so welcome.

Rona Smith