On my second visit to the trees I went there to conduct observational studies. My plan was to photograph, draw and measure them. The photographs were intended for this report, but with the drawings I aimed to become better acquainted with the subjects of my work. As I was drawing, I recalled another illustration of a tree I had seen somewhere. The artist’s name escaped me, but I remembered being awed by the way in which the bark of the tree had been drawn. In my recollection it was somehow immensely detailed, yet roughly textured. The layers of bark seemed to blend gracefully with the direction of the hatching lines. It conveyed to me both the mass of the tree, the elegance of its figure and its rugged surface. For a while I amused myself trying to recreate the technique of the drawing in my memory. I indulged by rendering the trees more detailed than necessary. Impatiently I left their surroundings almost naked in comparison. My lack of attention to the background of the drawings does however reflect on where my attention was when I first saw the site. The only things I saw in that moment were the two tree trunks. I cared little for the skinny young trees clustering around those dead giants. With photography I find it incredibly difficult to single out anything in a forest. In a drawing I can simply leave out everything I deem redundant.
FIGURE 11 (top): Drawing of the two stumps.
FIGURE 12 (middle): Drawing of the fallen parts of the trees.
FIGURE 13 (bottom): Drawing of the stump of Tree B
Click images to expand them
The sketches had another purpose. From them I would make simple copies on which I could sketch plans for further actions. Upon returning home in the evening I dismantled my bedside table and put the glass of an image frame on top of it. With a lamp underneath I had a light board. With it I copied the drawings and made the plans shown below. Initially I began with instructions for how I would record and listen to the noise of the trees on my next visit.
When I was looking over the drawings I happened to glance towards my bookshelf. A slim white book caught my eye. With black letters it spelled FREUD. Of course! The drawing I had remembered in the forest was by Lucien Freud. It was his etching After Constable’s Tree from 2003, made in study of an oil painting by John Constable from 1821 (Smee, 2003, 86). The title of the painting was Study of the Trunk of an Elm Tree. There I had been standing in the forest, attempting to draw like Lucien Freud drawing after John Constable.
In the landscape paintings of John Constable, we are faced with a grandiose display of nature. Trees are thrashed around by strong winds while torrents of rain pour into frothing oceans as the sunlight explodes through stormy clouds. Amid this spectacle we find the tiny human, at the mercy of providence. Yet there is an underlying sense in his paintings that the entire display of nature is there for the human. Nature appears as a messenger of divine grace, preaching to the people about the glory of God and country. The portraits of Lucien Freud on the other hand, shows a humanity that appears much smaller than in Constable's landscapes. In Freud's paintings we meet people in a private moment of silence. They sigh, tired and lost in thought, as the paint peels off the walls and grey clouds blanket the world outside the window.
The people in Freud’s paintings inhabit a world that does not exist for their benefit, but which goes on without them. Study of the trunk of an Elm Tree is a sombre painting. It shows a sentiment that is more reminiscent of Freud’s portraits than Constable’s other landscapes. The dark tree trunk fills almost the entire canvas, with the background being only slim lines on each side. It is massive and patient. The sublime is not hiding in that tree.
I did not see the sublime in my own trees either. They were silent and empty. Looking closer at them, I began speculating as to the nature of the rot that caused their downfall. It was much further developed in the stumps than in their
FIGURE 14 (left): Light table
FIGURE 15 (top): Plan for recording the fallen trunks.
FIGURE 16 (bottom): Plan for recording the stumps.
Click the plans to expand them
fallen counterparts. An oil drum would easily fit into the stumps. Wood rotting fungi will enter a tree through an area where the bark has become damaged. A hole made by an insect is enough (Kauffman, Kerber, 1922, 493). I theorized that the rot might have entered the trees at their base, and since then spread towards the crown. At some point the base of the trees would have become brittle enough to prone them to collapse. By then a strong wind would be enough to tear them down. As none of the young trees surrounding them appeared affected by rot, I assumed that the infection had happened when the dead trees were much younger. Finally, they fell after a slow death that could have lasted decades.