Notes and Images from a Small Island (Practice 8 Day 4)

I sit on a tree trunk (not one recently felled) but one that allows me to rest and look at the death of a landscape.  The reality of the trees and other species has been lost.  The air is still with sadness, suspended over the ‘forest’.  The machinery used to fell the trees remains in place to serve as a reminder to those that still stand.  I wonder how long the wood piles will stay to haunt me.  The ‘weeping’ trees already dripping the sap of life.  The ripped and torn sinews of the trunks are littered across the site, giving anyone who walks this path, a stark reminder of a savage death.

I am alone in this land of destruction. . .

As far as my photography is concerned, I plan to record the rough and violent death of the trees – the trunks roughly sawed through, revealing the long lives of many of them.  Not as long as some of their indigenous neighbours perhaps but a long time when compared with human lives.  I intend to get up close to the pain of the trees and record the beauty of them in death.