back to home 🏠
some of us must have entered the world feet first,
crawling, touching the earth on all fours,
jumping, running, leaping, twirling, lying, rolling, gliding,
we walked and walked and walked
each step leaves another trace of us,
and the earth responds,
you speak of humans leaving traces in nature as if we aren’t already in contact through gravity itself, our feet planted on the ground,
every snap of a dead twig, crackle of a fallen leap, what rippling effect must have ocurred thereafter?
we bring different soils in the soles of our shoes,
as we walk and walk and walk
how site recording transformed our practices
When I conside my relationship with my surrounding ecologies prior to this class, I fear it was superficial. Surface level. Naive. Misunderstood. It wasn’t until I was taught that site specific work is a critical tool I must hold on my belt, that I felt connected. How did I interact before you ask? Through quick snapshots of what I found moving between a to b, found images or from the most ‘beautiful’ photographs of flowers in florist arranging books. Sitting against flat colour. Studio light. Disconnected. And literally, cut off at the stems.
Our very first field trip ripped open my mind. This is authentic. This is what was missing. My interactions became slower. More observational. I started noticing what I was walking on. What I’m finding. Looking down. Looking up. Listening. Touching. Smelling.
My practise now situates itself at the ground level. If my shins or feet had eyes. Moving the psychology to make yourself their eye height. Their size. Acknowledging what is decaying on the ground. The leaf litter. Insects. Flowers that are hard to see.
On shoes
Every Monday at 4:15 PM, following our long walk along the Moonee Ponds creek, I'd make my way back to the Southeastern suburb, clad in my Adidas Ozweego. For badminton. It was during one of these walks that I found myself captivated by a line from Sonic Meditations: "Take a walk at night. Walk so silently that the bottoms of your feet become ears." This lingered in my mind, prompting a reflection on my shoes - my constant company through every walks, winds, grounds, and waters.
If my feet were ears, I wonder what would my shoes be? Would they be headphones or earplugs? Would they weaken or enhance the sounds around me? Or would they be amplifiers, faithfully transmitting every rustles and whispers?
I wonder if those shoes listened too. Perhaps even more passionately and attentively than my feet. Sucking up all that noise from the soil, the dirts, the grass, and the micro beings with each stride.
And with all that absorption they carry on. Always moving forward. Always moving between spaces. Always connecting places. Being. Witnessing. Transitioning. From one landscape to another. From grassy grounds to concrete pavements, from rocky soils to bumpy slopes, from tranquil fields to bustling city streets, from the quiet solitude of the creek to the loud synchrony of the badminton court.
Every Monday at 6:00 PM, I’ve always entered that badminton centre with learned feet. With informed shoes. On that badminton court, my walking shoes finally get their rest, as I swap to my badminton gears. I do wonder sometimes what do those waling shoes do in those two silent hours.
I wonder if they think. Think about what they have experienced - the sights, the sounds, the textures encountered along the walks.
Reflect.
Do they reflect? And converse silently with the new ground beneath them - the synthetic court surface, the traces of soil and dirt lingered from earlier walks ?
Do they?
I guess I just hope they had a good time.
I walk and listen to the noise of wet gravel rich soil, the volume of the crunching of the rocks and sand. The breaking underneath the feet. Adorned in my platform orthopedic mary janes the volume is loud, viseral, unavoidable.
It reminds me of the artwork “muscle memory” by Nina Canell, using mollusc shells in an gallery space with echoing walls the work invites the audience to walk through the work ontop of mollusc shells, the noise and feeling of them breaking under your shoes takes over the entire space with each shell cracking a painful dangerous noise echos throughout the space. The feeling people have by walking on it, feeling hurt for the shells walking hazardly, while others embrace the noise and stomp, jump and love the impact they make to destruct the enviroment.
the noise of nature being rich and noisy where ever you walk or move sound occurs. feet scuttering across grass, to speed walking on gravel there is no abscene of noice in nature.