Today I embarked on my ash-dieback project. Chalara ( or Hymenoscyphus fraxineus ) is a fungal disease killing our native ash trees.
For this artwork I will travel the country trespassing on Royal and private estates to poach wood from dead and dying ash trees affected by the disease. I will carve a ceremonial spoon from the timber and then host a free workshop in the local community to teach people to carve their own spoons.
For New Years eve and the first trespass I chose Castle Howard. A 6000 acre, 300 year old estate owned by Hon. Nicholas Howard (the second son of Lord Howard of Henderskelfe).
It was a dark and stormy night. A magnificent barn owl swooped in front of me as I approached the estate, flashing brilliant white in the light of my head torch. I felt it was a good omen.
The Howard estate threw up the usual obstacles we are face with when walking on private land in this country: barbed wire fences; scary signs using words and symbols to cast fear in the minds of those who might be thinking of trespass; 7ft stone walls built by local people 100 years ago.
I found a footpath that wound along the side of the estate woodland to the East. Climbing the first wire fence I immediately found a large felled tree which turned out to be a beautiful fastigiate oak some 75 years old.
Moving further into the estate, over the ancient crumbling stone wall, I followed my instinct and looked for a suitable dead or dying ash tree to poach.
The eiry skeletal silhouettes of infected trees stand out in the darkness even on a moonless night. The tree's last desperate attempt to survive the infection evident in the prolific epicormic growth, visible as a bristle of hair-like vertical shoots.
I found a suitable tree - dying but not dead - with thick branches I could reach with my folding pruning saw. As I cut through the branch it snapped prematurely revealing the blackened diseased heartwood. Proof if I needed any that this tree does not have long to live.
I cut as much wood as I could carry and set off to find my way back out of the estate.
The ground underfoot was waterlogged, unable to cope with the unseasonal warm bringing a deluge of heavy rain.
As I make my way through the dark woods I acknowledge the feelings in me: of fear; of transgression; of defiance; of joy. Coming across the castle, I wonder about the people who live inside, about the history that has led those people to feel ownership of this land and all it holds.
Back in the warm and dry I am pleased with my night's haul.
Enough wood for 8 good eating spoons on the workshop and one large ceremonial spoon for me to carve.
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