(under)ground signaling, adjustments, and landscaping
Galeria FBAUL, Lisbon, PT
clay, metal grid,
marble sand.
Incense of eucalyptus leaf, walnut leaf, pine and cedar bark, eucalyptus ash. Flame.
marble sand.
Incense of eucalyptus leaf, walnut leaf, pine and cedar bark, eucalyptus ash. Flame.
I was struck by a recollection of B’s experience with the wildfires; how the fire had burnt their agroforest, where they had managed to contain it before it reached the older forested part of the farm. She recalled walking in the agroforest afterwards, and even without fire on the surface, by taking steps on the ground, or by pouring water on its surface and into these holes left by burnt tree stumps, roots, shrubs, and soil, smoke would come out from underneath her feet. The fire and its embers were still hot and smoking below the surface of the earth.
Beginning from this concept of peril or threat, which we can’t directly see: a continuation of damage and decay, even after it has seemingly gone, when nothing is left on the surface. With this train of thought, I combine its characteristics: something simultaneously burning, hidden from sight, yet fully tangible.
Working through scent—a sense that is notoriously intrusive, invasive in itself, yet sometimes undetectable or of unclear origin. Invisible, yet making itself present and known to us immediately. For this piece, I gravitated towards incense: with its ritualistic and often sacred history, it “domesticates” or normalises burning, embers, fire, ash, and smoke for us. In our homes, indoors, in our own fortresses, where it burns by our rules, rather than in the wild format we associate with fire.
It has historically been made of a blend of resins and woods. Here, I am using dry materials collected at Quinta das Relvas, including pine (needles and bark), cypress (needles and bark), eucalyptus (leaves from both young and old trees, and bark), cherry (resin and bark), and other materials present on site.
To obstruct the view of the burning process, or to render it invisible, I used a sort of layer/shell/ground under which I hold the incense. Made from a layer of clay soil sourced from the farm, and lifted a few inches off the floor, it resembles makeshift tile flooring, so characteristic of the region’s old industrial past and the scars left on the earth from extraction. This is also a reference to Bea’s recollection and the aspect of physical recollection—the material memory that the ground holds.
In this way, I am looking at the earth specifically: how, albeit hosting eucalyptus monocultures (a “green desert”) today, destructions and changes such as these remain deeply-seated within the underground ecosystem. In this binary of human-made and plant vernaculars, what could be the future skin of the forest?
Beginning from this concept of peril or threat, which we can’t directly see: a continuation of damage and decay, even after it has seemingly gone, when nothing is left on the surface. With this train of thought, I combine its characteristics: something simultaneously burning, hidden from sight, yet fully tangible.
Working through scent—a sense that is notoriously intrusive, invasive in itself, yet sometimes undetectable or of unclear origin. Invisible, yet making itself present and known to us immediately. For this piece, I gravitated towards incense: with its ritualistic and often sacred history, it “domesticates” or normalises burning, embers, fire, ash, and smoke for us. In our homes, indoors, in our own fortresses, where it burns by our rules, rather than in the wild format we associate with fire.
It has historically been made of a blend of resins and woods. Here, I am using dry materials collected at Quinta das Relvas, including pine (needles and bark), cypress (needles and bark), eucalyptus (leaves from both young and old trees, and bark), cherry (resin and bark), and other materials present on site.
To obstruct the view of the burning process, or to render it invisible, I used a sort of layer/shell/ground under which I hold the incense. Made from a layer of clay soil sourced from the farm, and lifted a few inches off the floor, it resembles makeshift tile flooring, so characteristic of the region’s old industrial past and the scars left on the earth from extraction. This is also a reference to Bea’s recollection and the aspect of physical recollection—the material memory that the ground holds.
In this way, I am looking at the earth specifically: how, albeit hosting eucalyptus monocultures (a “green desert”) today, destructions and changes such as these remain deeply-seated within the underground ecosystem. In this binary of human-made and plant vernaculars, what could be the future skin of the forest?
