Today’s post has been written by Frances Law, our artist collaborator on “When It Rains, We Harvest.” Her website is located here.
My art practice is shaped by an exploration of the landscape. I’m interested in highlighting some of the invisible layers which exist within the landscape. What’s in a place, its archaeology, social history, and multiple layers of distinctiveness? What things within the landscape can lead to a greater understanding of a community’s identity and social connectedness? What can we find out from the past that can enrich and embellish the present and the future? These are just some of the questions which drive my practice and inspire me to explore the rich diversity within my own landscape and those further afield.
I was delighted to be invited by St Andrews University to take part in this fascinating project, which aimed to study the community, heritage, and impact of El Nino on a small fishing community in Northern Peru.
Previous projects that I have been involved in have allowed a drilling down into the cultural and historical layers existing within communities and have in some cases provided links for people to connect to each other and their place through their stories, experience, and memories, while also invigorating the relationships between people and the places they live. This work has been presented in various formats, including artist’s books, assemblages, installations, drawings, and paintings.
The landscape of this region of Northern Peru has been in itself an inspiring environment to work with, the shapes, colours and textures of this place combined with the archaeology of the Moche and Chimu cultures. These small farming and fishing communities have been influenced, motivated, and constrained by their natural surroundings and have organised their space, altering the landscape around them for a diversity of purposes and adapting to the impact of El Niño.
I have enjoyed scratching beneath the surface and finding within the physical form and pattern of the landscape a much larger spiritual and mysterious presence, one which shows an inherent connection between the indigenous communities and their land and where people and their personal experiences are central to a place’s identity.
On the surface, much of this remains unseen and pertains to an intuitive intelligence perhaps beyond conscious awareness. However, these people embrace the imaginative tradition, honouring and celebrating their relationship with the environment, recognising, and remembering the ways of their elders.
In many ways, this is something that we in the west have forgotten how to do. We have forgotten how to do so many things, how to have relationships with one another, through stories spoken by the fireside or sung by the roadside. We have forgotten how to celebrate our creativity and to hold gratitude for the magic. As a result, we have also neglected our relationship with the environment and forgotten that we are a part of nature living within a global collective.
My question now is: Can caring for the future through remembering the past provide a sustainable platform for the present? I believe that it can, working intuitively and restoring spiritual ideologies, these small communities—listening and remembering indigenous ways of thinking and allowing the stories to stir from their slumbers once again—have found new ways to tackle climate change and adapt to challenging and life changing situations.
