There you are!
Sunlight falls. As seen from above, pale green trees interrupt the light, creating black lace shadows on the brown soil. A squirrel scampers across the dusty-dry ground. Dust and ground.
The ground is something beneath us that we constantly tread upon. It can also be the background, something to be written, painted or drawn upon. The ground is something we all draw upon in footsteps and tracks.
White paper creates a ground for writing, painting or drawing. It craves marks and symbols, points and lines… it begs for ink to seep into it, for blue or black or blue-black ink to swish across, to create watery horizons, stratified landscapes with waterfalls.
White paper creates a ground covered in snow. Points form in the snow. Perhaps they are people as seen from above, perhaps they are stars seen in negative. Little crosses in the white snow look a bit like the footprints made from small birds. As seen from above. Traces of movements of smallness.
Making an event –however small – is the most delicate thing in the world…†
As seen from above, snow has fallen to the ground. It lies in drifts and banks. Someone has made a path through it… “something that can be passed through.” Peering from a window to the scene and snow below one can look down upon a field of snow.
Snow upon the ground. Dust and ground.
A background of night-sky blue and against it gradations of white. Against the night-sky are milky galaxies of multitudes of crowded stars swirling around. Scattered and dispersed. White powder, dust, powdery snow, the trace of a thrown snowball?
The spreading splatter of a thrown snowball… a snowball of tightly-compressed snow. Snow padded together into a ball by gloved hands then thrown, thrown onto a ground, a blue ground. Or just merely dust upon a ground. Ever so slight but present, dust was there upon the paper, then touched by the sun the dusting leaves a trace. Sunshine falls upon the ground, dust interrupts the light, creating white absences.
Peering from a window one can see the scene below. Peering through the screen of a phone one can frame vines and trees in a forest. Through the screen of a phone colours became slightly grey, faded, pixelated. Water sitting over stones looks blue then grey, all awash as if asking for a brush to be dipped into it.
Dust motes rising and falling, in the air, gathered dust in the corners of a room. Fallen snow and sandy soil. Spray from a waterfall, the smell of rivers and streams, the dampness of trees, undergrowth and grasses. Warming sunlight and the sharp coolness of shadows. Changes in the atmosphere. Paths, hills and fields. The smell of snow. New paper, quietly marking pens and pencils.
Small decisions and small moments…
There you are, squirrel!
Victoria Wynne-Jones, June 2014
Victoria Wynne-Jones is currently a doctoral candidate in Art History at the University of Auckland and a curator at Window gallery.