These three images are from the archive of my Mentor’s Grove Project.
They represent two distinct efforts at design of the relief sculptures. I like how different they appear. I have learned a great deal thinking about that difference and still have a lot left to learn.
The relief sculptures were to surround the visitor once they had reached the center of the labyrinth. The two distinct design processes can be related to one another once you know the conception of the reliefs: the whole story of Gilgamesh was to emerge from the walls like the images seen in clouds.
Imagine that: lying on your back, gazing into the sky and, instead of picking out a duck or a snowman in an individual cloud, you see surrounding you over the whole horizon, linked cloud by cloud, an entire coherent epic story. This was intended as a metaphor for the naturalness of human life as story. That is, to suggest the way human life relates to the rest of nature.
(But think what changes the world would have to undergo to witness such a spectacle. How is human life like and unlike that? That question was central to my process)
But, two efforts: 1. To tell the whole story of Gilgamesh and 2. to tell it in sculptures that appear in the same way that images appear in clouds.
First the cartoony sketch — I have, over two sketchbooks, the entire epic of Gilgamesh messily sketched out as sequential art, in an effort to see what was visible (most visual) about the events narrated in the story.
Second, these ambiguous photographs: My idea for the visual look of the reliefs was like “images seen in clouds” — except seen in stone, fieldstone and mortar. I wanted viewers to see the sculptures the same way they see images in natural formations, clouds, rocks, trees. I wanted the images to be invisible until viewers pulled them out of the undeclarative surface with their imaginations.
I have hundreds of photographs of rockfaces and treebranches — particularly oaks for some reason — which I took in an effort to learn the style by which natural forms suggested images. The photographs here relate to a later stage in that process: trying to catch the repetition and interruption of such forms, I incised a grid into a piece of plastic and then photographed images reflected in its divided surface.
Included in the computer slide show of images I reflected were pictures from Ankor Wat. The Kmer sculpture and architecture from Ankor Wat has always struck me as a sort of hallucination occuring in our perception of natural forms. It is far more visible and declarative than the sculpture I intended for the grove but still I like it.
