Elements in the artwork arrive and disappear. Before long, the previously unseen makes its presence known. Through photography, we capture a glimpse, a record of certainty. It acts to declare “it happened”. The capturing of the occurrence acknowledges it will pass and disappear, often in a short time period. In other instances, the visitor stays for longer - perhaps maybe to establish a home. The attempt to capture the relationships between the web of individuals into a map feels like an assemblage of what’s possible. However, our attempts fall short of noting the dynamic intermingling and complexity of the relationships. These relationships go beyond those with each other and extend to the structure and material of the work. So, what’s important to capture, and how best to do this?

The maps we draw lay bare the gaps in our perception of the parts of the work that are out of sight, enclosed in the folded membrane and within the darkness of soil. We often lack the names of the visitors. We can’t be with the piece for every minute of the day, and miss lifecycles and fleeting arrivials.

They come and go. We come and go.

In the process of mapping the dynamic nature of the piece, we turn to the ecological maps that document webs of interactions.

Also, the homunculus draws our attention, as it is a neurological map of the brain that shows the regions controlling different parts of the body. Instead of a visually accurate map, a model captures the proportion of brain tissue allocated to sensory and motor control in the parts of the body.  Exaggerations of the body’s anatomy reveals something sensed and personal.

We consider whether an atlas or star chart might be more appropriate. With these examples there are transferable possibilities to navigate constant change as with the movement of astronomical bodies and celestial forces.

Or perhaps the spreads of cards used in tarot, such as the Celtic Cross, or Wheel of the Year, could also challenge the fixed nature of a map and acknowledge the shifting nature of interpretation. Here the purpose of the map is to embrace randomness, as in drawing cards and placing them in formations for divination.

We consider our work in relation to the land artists, who also embrace the environment and external forces that contribute to the artwork.

All are dynamic and beyond representation. Instead, they integrate and host webs of possibilities. Similarly, the work in the studio offers multiple directions and considers others beyond the human. The pieces acknowledge the simulations we make them within and the human constructs that facilitate them.

The work might be about the many, but it is also about us as part of the work. We are amongst the many, not outside.

Without the assemblage of the habitat we construct in the work, without the regular watering, none of these living elements would be here. And if they happened to be passing by, without the artwork they would not settle in this form or web of relations.

At the end of the artworks life, when we stop it growing - one thing is certain. Without the map and the documents, all those who have lived on and inside the work in its development, will be unknown. We would lose the soap opera of the fly and spider, the interactions of the three (and counting) different fungal communities, and the surprise of the wheat growth. Does that matter? Or is the fact that they shape and contribute to the final piece enough? Perhaps so!

Isn’t this an age-old story of lives lost in time? Or in telling these stories, in the small tales, we make discoveries in the seemingly insignificant acts. Through creating artworks that are habitats, nurturing homes and ecosystems, can we contribute to bigger systems and make chains of change?
 

Sources of further reading:

https://aeon.co/essays/the-iconic-brain-map-thats-changing-neurosurgery-and-gaming