ARTISTS TALKING

# 11 [29 July 2009]

Stony Tarn

Thursday, 23rd July - parked at the Woolpack Inn, Eskdale, and took path up to Eel tarn along jumping brooks and through high furns. The wonderful atmosphere of this area began to assert itself as we approached Eel tarn and skirted it. Waterlilies and reeds festooned half of it and the imagination fed on what might lie beneath the dark surface - Eel tarn refers not to eels but to an old Norse word for 'evil' (will-o'-the-wisps hang over it in autumn - wow!) . The far away hills towards the west were coloured in a blue/mauve that gave rise to an immense yearning to abandon the swim and travel to them, explore them, live there forever, and be happy.

Instead we went on up to Stony tarn where the land got boggy and beautifully wild. We arrived and got changed below a towering crag. The sun was out at times but not over us. We got into a dull, sap green water that boasted big umbrellas of weed that hung in the depths quivering at the slightest hint of current or movement. We had snorkels and spent time in this underwater landscape having more confidence to allow ourselves to see what was really there - I came away with a store of images which, I guess, will filter into the art work we do for the exhibition or recycle in my brain for years.

Afterwards we had great difficulty in collecting sediment from the bottom of the lake to use in our paintings and experiments - it was so Stony - what did we expect?

Richard

# 12 [31 July 2009]

14^th July 09                Seathwaite Tarn

Arrived at the reservoir after a walk up the sodden tracks from the road below gaining a first sight of the reservoir’s dam from down the valley. As we approached, the sound of overflow water grew louder. A slight wind drew choppy waves away from the dam towards the closed wall of hills that lie at the far end - a wall that conceals a pass into the valley beyond.

We approached the island just off the shore and saw that the water was so clear. We decided the stake with the stones from Moss Eccles Tarn should be planted on the island, on a slope facing inwards looking over the water towards the far shore.

The swim across and back was glorious. The water was so pure and clean it meant very high visibility, the sun increasing its clarity. The turquoise water, darkening slightly with depth, was astounding and made watching Richard swim from below the surface so easy. With each underwater sweep of his arm or a kick of his legs, trails of air bubbles followed the movement emphasising the dynamics of propulsion.

Afterwards, we walked onto the top of the dam and watched the water roaring over the wall. Looking down, it seemed as if the falling water was flowing upwards and becoming like fire as the white water hit the pool at the bottom. Perceptions had been altered.

Paul

# 13 [31 July 2009]

23^rd July 09                Stony Tarn

A long drive into Eskdale across changing landscapes of mixed woodland, open fell side, and near and distant crags brought us to the walk up to Stony Tarn. We walked past Eel Tarn, feeling relieved we had not chosen that one to swim in. It was full of weed and lilies (and presumably eels) and looked very shallow. After the clarity and depth of Seathwaite Tarn, I had realised just how much I prefer the clarity, purity and depth of high water. I also thought how Roger Deakin would have loved to feel the sensation of the underwater growth and the touch of aquatic creatures on his skin.

Richard and I had been discussing the difference between lower water, prone to farmland run-off producing an ecology able to sustain weed and other life forms, and the high tarns where few nutrients gathered. Purer water.

We climbed higher, away from Eel tarn and arrived over boggy ground and thick ferns at Stony Tarn. We had brought snorkels to enable greater viewing of the underwater space, filled with large clumps of weed and single strands reaching upwards with horizontal strands flowing in the current.

Water boatmen swarmed like midges on the water surface. Film was shot of the state of the water. Eventually, a linked film of all the surfaces from all the tarns will be edited together.

The descent brought on a thirst that only a pint brewed in the microbrewery of the Woolpack Inn could quench.

Paul

# 14 [5 August 2009]

30th July 09  Burnmoor Tarn

Another long, soggy underfoot climb up from the The Woolpack Inn, this time arrived at via the extremes of Hardknot Pass where the lesser motorist reversed gingerly from inclines and bends that proved too great. Richard, however, knew the road, although I was glad to arrive and park up.

Walked up passing Eel tarn again, now seemingly nearer in the brighter light. We likened it to a daily commute along a familiar route.

New boots bore me well along sodden floating ground and running streams. Black beetles fought battles for control of small piles of sheep shit in heroic struggles that had the appearance of mating rituals.

Before we set off, Richard shared with me the fact that there were pike in the tarn. He said he did not want to carry the knowledge alone. I thanked him for sharing the information. All the way up, my brain could not let drop the image formed and it was only when I had entered the water - clear and brisk under the westerly wind - that I let go the anxieties with more immediate, existential matters on which to focus.

The walk back down was twice as hard going and we both felt the distance after a good cool swim. A chilling breeze, even in warm weather, makes demands that are not always immediately apparent. We wore warm hats and jackets where other walkers out that day looked sideways at us in their short sleeves.

The pub was consistently refreshing and we made the return route via a different, easier road.

Two days later my legs still struggled up and down stairs.

Paul

# 15 [17 August 2009]

Burnmoor tarn

Another chance to enter what for me is an enchanted domain above Eskdale and this time the weather is brighter. We weave our way through the furns past Eel tarn and on towards the horizons that we looked longingly at last time, knowing that over the lip of one shoulder lay hidden Burnmoor tarn - infact it lay hidden for most of the journey there. Something about the shape of the hills round here, their lazy slow curves and unobtainable colour I find hypnotic. Later I read that Burnmoor refers to 'Borrans' or burial mounds on the moors. We cross a bridge over the river before the final slope to the edge of the tarn. I long to linger and somehow penetrate and possess the secrets of the place, where the river divides. This must all constitute the aesthetics, the art of the project and yet it remains terribly elusive.

Arriving at the edge of the water and looking across, the need to deal with practicalities steals the moment. We have a good and relatively easy swim despite a breeze wiping up some waves and emerge tired.

Afterwards the magic qualities of the place give way to a more mundane effort to get ourselves back, carrying packs that get heavier by the moment, and down for refreshment and rest.

Richard

# 16 [31 August 2009]

 Greendale tarn 24^th August

We ascend the beck from near the edge of Wast Water. Dramatic waterfalls are disclosed by the curved valley and we stop frequently to look. Neither of us has visited this tarn before so there is more charge and anticipation in the air.

Finally we see it beneath the cliffs on one side and the curve of Seatallen on the other and in the distance Haycock and beyond Steeple.

Each tarn feels special and unique, each has its own valuable  personality. Many tarns have the circular shape of a corrie - but then there are tarns like Sprinkling (sparkling) tarn and Angle tarn (at Patterdale) that are full of bays cliffs etc where the direction of exploration is not so much down and under as round the edges, into the inlets, and across to islands - these are reasons to linger,  de-focus from any particular goal,  leaving room for the aesthetic experience to enter which otherwise fails to appear in the presence of a too-insistent-objective . If we're too focused on the goal we end up with the feeling of an immanence of something that fails to come to pass.

Greendale is the sort of tarn that lies between the two - not circular but nor is it as intricate as Angle tarn.

Another realisation  occurs at this tarn - my/our style of art has changed as a result of the swims; but not only style  - the format, for me, has changed from rectangular to circular. ( I think that Paul's idea for the 'Full Circle' project on Morecombe Bay, which we completed two years ago, put the circle on our agenda.)

But there are further ramifications of the performance of 'Swimcircle' which are relevant - complete immersion in the subject of the art, immersion in the forces and sensations of the water; dissolving into the physical world rather than looking at it from a distance, from dry land; viewing the world from a horizontal swimming position,  rather than standing;  complete mingling with the subject matter rather than looking at it through the window of perspective produces a different art, necessarily involving  the forces experienced in the immersion. Maybe this is all stuff already written in academic studies of performance art but this felt first-hand and therefore had depth to it.

Paul swam up and down, while I swam less this time having to adapt to the cold. Finding a small rock to use for the next post proved difficult as the tarn had a dark weedy bed strewn with boulders, but we finally locate one near the outlet just as we leave another fabulous body of water.

Richard

# 17 [1 September 2009]

Greendale Tarn - 24th August 09

A change from the planned swim venue. Greendale replaces Ennerdale water, introducing a new for us, high body of water standing on a shelf above Wastwater. The climb up is through a steep channel of falling water, growing in strength with each additional beck that joins it. The rain has fallen heavily in recent days and the run off from the tarn and hills is fast. Today's break in the rain brings hot sun and the ascent is demanding. Sweat runs from every pore and we rest frequently. Behind us lies the valley bottom running away to the sea beyond Ravensglass.

Today the image of glaciers cutting out this landscape is vivid.

We reach the tarn. It's smaller than expected despite having seen the maps. It is a welcoming place despite the blanket of weeds that clearly delineates the shallower contours of what lies beneath. It is just 8 meters at its deepest point. Today, because of the rain, it's 12 Celsius. Immersion brings instant invigoration.

We use a rock to drive in the post with the stone from Burnmoor Tarn beneath a standing boulder. I film the water surface and eventually find a small stone to take away before the hard descent. Footholds are small and tricky with my big boots and legs are soon tired again. The descent is always the riskier journey.

Almost down, the light over Wastwater has changed and now strikes the cliff directly. Steep rock cuts into deepest metallic water. The dynamic forces are inescapably evident.

Paul

# 18 [1 December 2009]

Bleaberry Tarn    30^th November 2009

After delays in the project caused by periods of sickness for both Richard and I, followed by the Cumbria flooding, we finally made it out to Buttermere for the ascent to Bleaberry Tarn.

Last year, during our Swimming Home project, we had seen the fold of the high ridge that holds Bleaberry Tarn high above the surface of Buttermere. We had imagined it dark and cold - unforgiving in its north-eastern aspect. It was then that we decided to swim this tarn and now, finally, we were climbing the 45 degree zigzag path that kicks upwards from a corner of Buttermere where two men watched a third operating a small digger removing stones and flood debris washed into the outflow towards Crummock Water.

We started the climb at midday. At last a clear bright but cold day after what seemed like months of rain. The sun was already past its highest point, scarcely cutting much of an arc in the sky with a full moon hot on its heels. The snow-clad tops were electric in the clear sunlight, although our entire walk up was in the shade of the peaks to the south.

Above the tree line, we looked round and could take in the whole of Buttermere and Crummock Water below with snow tipped Grasmoor straddling above them timelessly.

I had been thinking about swimming in Bleaberry Tarn for over a year and it had gained epic proportions in my mind, yet, on coming face to face with it, it was both a surprise and a delight. It was smaller than anticipated despite having seen it on maps and on Google Earth and not as bleak and unforgiving as imagined, but sitting snugly below Red Pike, almost welcoming.

The air temperature was dropping fast and the water in the shallows barely 5 Celsius, the deeper water even colder. But the water, though cold when swimming, was so clean it was invigorating to drink.

On the ascent, Richard and I had continued developing our ideas for a public art application we intend to make in the New Year – the energy from this stage of the Swim Circle project feeding ideas for hopefully our next.

I planted a post with a stone from Greendale Tarn into the almost frozen ground by the side of the tarn and took a film of the water’s surface. As we started to walk away, two honking ravens flew back into the amphitheatre to reclaim their territory.

Paul

# 19 [5 December 2009]

Bleaberry tarn, Buttermere 1st December

After a considerable gap we are underway again - but it's necessary to adjust to a new situation. Health problems have beset both of us but for me it means I won't be able to swim until it gets warmer again. So the swims are down to Paul to do on his own while I will do what? That was a question we needed to resolve - how the new balance of involvement would work.

At once when we set off from Buttermere the feeling of being 'back on the trail' lifted us as we walked across recently flooded tracks to woods in the wintry light. Once in the woods we ascended steeply to the concealed hanging body of water above. We caught no glimpse of it until we stood on its very edge.

Having so thouroughly engaged in the performance/swim on previous trips, I now had the chance to observe 'from a distance'. So as Paul got ready to enter the tarn, I climbed on up to a shoulder high above to get a veiw of the whole show - minute figure, tarn and the big picture beyond.

It was far more awesome than I had anticipated - to see this (now) tiny, fragile figure, launch into the lake and begin to paddle across the surface, making painfully slow progress, surrounded by immense arms of rock and more distant snowy summits. It was easy to see it in heroic proportions: ' humanity dwarfed by the forces of nature defiantly pressing on' - a Turner painting of the sublime come alive.

And for me the conflicting desire to be both part of that performance, that art, and yet also to simultaneously witness it   - the perennial conflict of how to be inside the adventure and to see it from the outside - one or the other not both.

Was my new role to be solely a witness?

I hastened down the hill to reengage in the performance. 

Richard

# 20 [3 February 2010]

Loweswater            29^th January 2010

After another pause in the swim circle’s progress, this time due to the severe weather, again we’re back on track and heading for Loweswater. The first swim of 2010. Loweswater was also the first swim of last year’s Swimming Home project and we walked to the same point where we swam across the lake and back. This time the water is barely 4C and a snowstorm is about to start. It could only be a symbolic submersion for a few minutes.

It felt good to be making progress once again. On either side of the entry point we whipped a stone from the last swim to the branch of a tree and hung painted stones above and trailing into the water. We had made a gate through which the water had been entered.

The snow, when it came, came horizontally and marked all the trees in the wood that came down to the water’s edge. The far side of the water and the surrounding hills were lost in the blizzard. After the snow ran out, the sky cleared into bright sunlight and lit the mountains for the rest of the afternoon.

We left the stones in place, wondering how they would be received by those that came across them. As we were leaving, two sullen walkers came by, avoiding eye contact with each other, perhaps after an argument. Would they see our gateway or would they walk by angrily unaware? We watched them through the trees. We saw them stop and look. Perhaps they started talking because of their discovery. Art can change perceptions and lives.

Paul