A La Luz: Arctic | Part III
Ongoing Arctic Dialogues
Jane Rushton
Jane Rushton is a patient and thorough artist-explorer, her gaze shifting from the ground up. Through both micro and macroscopic study, Jane creates beautiful and thought-provoking artwork, reflecting her deep connection to the Arctic.
The notion of the North has always featured strongly in my sense of identity; I have a feeling of belonging to, and resonance with the North in terms of light, landscape, weather, place, and space. I am drawn to locations where it’s possible to slow down and be attuned to the environment in a way that feeds my need for physical and psychological space. For this reason, I have long sought out sites of solitude where the central themes of my work can be explored.
In the 1990s, gathering reference material in Iceland, I was deeply struck by the evolving and contingent nature of a land in formation; the chemical interactions that resulted in unexpected rock colours, the fluid and explosive expressions found in the geological landscape, and the colonisation of new land by mosses, lichens and other flora. There felt to be an authenticity in this landscape that was tangible. I gathered rock samples from around fumaroles, bringing them back to grind down into pigment - though I later ended up using them more successfully as guides to replicate colour. It was this trip that confirmed that it was the experience of landscape that I was searching for in my work, rather than its observation and depiction.
My first true Arctic encounter was in Greenland in the summer of 2000 and it had a profound effect on me and the further development of my work. Travelling with my geologist partner on foot across the tundra, carrying what was needed for basic survival (including sketchbook and minimal materials), and seeing not another soul for almost two weeks, a deep sense of connection with the natural world was born. It was a deeply emotional experience, and one which I feel utterly privileged to have had.
The act of walking became integral to the creative process; the rhythm of the breath and the pace of the step triggered a contemplative state in which all of the senses were fully tuned in, which in turn became a catalyst for personal and creative development.
Much of the work made about that, and subsequent, Greenland trips attends to the notions of distance and proximity. One’s eye and mind seem to be either somewhere in the vast distance, or in close scrutiny. In slowing down and just being with the landscape one’s attention is caught by the smallest of things and the most tentative of relationships – from the structures visible within the various rock types and the palimpsest of lichen colony growth, to the push and pull of plants of the tundra carpet. Examples from my sketchbooks demonstrate those concerns.
The multi-sensory experience of walking through the low scrub of the tundra was so powerful; the smell of the Ledum (Labrador Tea) caught underfoot, the sound of the great Northern Diver with its otherworldly evening call, the sensing of a reindeer passing the tent, or an arctic fox on the lookout in case we were careless enough to leave anything out, the texture of the rock under ones fingers, and the sight of the delicate, yet resilient, arctic flowers.
Subsequent work in the studio very much reflected on a sense of spatiality, and an exploration of the meditative experience, whilst strongly referencing the colour and texture of tundra and ice.
Example of early Greenland work: Icefjord II 2006 | Acrylic on canvas, 100 x 100cm
Back in 2000 the effects of climate change were being noted in the Arctic, with rising temperatures and receding glaciers, but it wasn’t in the public consciousness in the way it is now. My later journeys north have actively confirmed to me that things are changing fast, and this is borne out, not only by science, but also in the testimonies of Greenlandic friends whose lifestyles have to adapt. Twenty years on, and we are in no doubt about the environmental impacts of climate change.
During a 2013 trip to Greenland I was particularly struck by the paradox of strength and fragility in the environment; seeing how there is a recovery or adaptation that takes place when conditions change. For example, the way that areas of plant growth shift according to changing conditions, how subtle variations in the ice margins reveal new relationships, how the geological story is never-ending, and how all of the natural interactions that occur represent a constant flux.
Work made during this period has a different aesthetic, which explores the complex and multi-layered story of relationship and change. I don’t have a visual plan when I start. Rather, I let the work tell its own story. First applying a watercolour wash I then slowly build up a collage of image transfers taken from my photographs. It is the colour and texture of the place I’m looking for and this is built up, intuitively, into a composition.
One layer within the work may be a map drawn onto fine Japanese paper. During development, surfaces will have been rubbed, scrubbed and scratched; worn away and then built up again, so reflecting on the natural processes of weathering, erosion, deposition, drenching and drying.
Borderland 2014 | Mixed media on paper, 30 x 30cm
In work like Borderland, for example, I am juxtaposing and overlaying imagery of lichens on rocks with eroded earth and sections of ice. The source material may be at completely different scales, but that doesn’t matter because it isn’t meant to be descriptive.
Elemental Journey 2014 | Mixed media on paper, 30 x 30cm
The same sorts of complex interactions are explored in Elemental Journey, this time using imagery of ice at various scales, rocks, plants, and again a map layer. I hope that one is led to visually and intellectually explore, and also take pleasure. I hope that there is a level of imaginative transformation that entices and satisfies.
In 2009 I went to Svalbard joining a scientific field sampling trip. At this time, I worked as a lecturer and studio tutor in Fine Art at Lancaster University, and made connections with an atmospheric scientist who was happy to forge links with an artist. I knew that this field trip was going to give me a different sort of Arctic experience to draw on because the opportunity to engage directly with the landscape would be very limited.
Snow-sampling in the field in Svalbard
We were in Svalbard for the period spanning the time of the polar sunrise with the aim of collecting snow samples to see how the arrival of the sun affected the behaviour of POPs (persistent organic pollutants) in the snowpack. This meant three of us taking skidoos loaded with specially prepared sterile equipment out to sampling sites to collect the snow. We took turns on polar bear duty, armed with a rifle, while the other two worked. The tension involved, coupled with the need to be clothed to deal with temperatures ranging from -15º C to -50º C, so creating a barrier between self and environment, meant that it was never going to be possible to quietly contemplate and absorb the atmosphere. I had to find a new way to engage.
On returning to base, the snow samples were melted and then filtered, with the filtrate returning to the lab in the UK for analysis. I was intrigued by the 5 cm diameter filter papers, with their residue of carbon from local coalmines, which were being discarded by the scientists. These tiny discs rapidly became the focus of my attention, and the starting point for a whole new body of work.
Residual Traces 2009 | Used filter papers on paper, approx. 30 x 30cm
Looking at the discarded filter papers under a microscope back in the UK I was struck by how they resembled mini topographies with ridges and valleys, plateaus and mountains. From these I started making exploratory drawings.
Because of the experience of the Polar Twilight, and the nature of the carbon coated filter papers, the work almost demanded to be monochrome and so my materials of choice were charcoal, graphite powder, gesso, pencil, fine-liner pen, and ink.
Mapscape I 2010 | Graphite suspension and pencil on paper, approx. 30 x 30cm
For some pieces I used a graphite powder suspension to create a base for drawing into, and I used the actual filter papers in others. The allusion to topographies and cartography developed with my using the visual language of mapmaking, as the drawing would wend its way across the surface of the paper like a traveller across a field of snow.
Terra Incognita 2010/11 | Fine-liner pen and watercolour on paper, approx. 80 x 80cm
These outcomes were very different from previous work, but I was excited to be, once again, engaged in dialogue with science and scientists, and taking directly from their working practices and procedures to make art. I think there is a huge value in having cross-disciplinary conversations as it, not only, opens up a whole new range of ideas, methods and processes, but a greater opportunity to communicate more widely.
The core values in all of my work include paying attention to the subtleties and nuances of the natural environment, and the processes at play in its formation, considering the interconnectedness of things in both a spiritual (small ‘s’) and physical way, and acknowledging the richness and complexity of our human relationship with landscape and environment.
In terms of art values, I am concerned with visual quality and the aesthetic. I am an advocate of ‘slow art’ and want the viewer to invest time in looking, as I do in making. Despite it not being overtly stated, my work is also underpinned by environmental values, in that I want it to have an impact on the viewer’s relationship with our climate-challenged environment.
I choose not to make direct political comment – I want to make art. For me, politics and art are not the same thing. However, my responses to the Arctic are filtered through my personal knowledge and experience, and I am a political being, and so those values are clearly integral to the work.
From today’s perspective, my creative relationship with the Arctic will have to be approached differently. Even if/when travel restrictions brought on by COVID-19 are eased I’m not sure that I feel it right to undertaking unnecessary travel. It’s a dilemma. Maybe I would feel ok about being an add-on to another climate research trip (open to offers), or maybe I will decide that the land of the far north is best explored from within memory and imagination.
All content above © Jane Rushton | Used with permission
