‘'Lost Forest’' is a black and white A3 photograph. Signed and numbered 1-30 special edition as a giclée print on Hahnemühle Bamboo. This paper is made from 90% Bamboo fibres and 10% cotton combining photography with environmental friendliness. Bamboo paper is warm toned and I felt it suited this photo.
Editioned prints are posted by registered post.
This text outlines the background or context to the photo.
“This wood was a little different. Maybe the spruce had been thinned out previously or perhaps they had never been packed as tightly as the state forestry body, Caoilte, pack their trees. On the periphery of the plantation there were wild places. Native trees such as birch, alder, elder, rowan, hazel , hawthorn and ash had erupted into young trees. Industrious seeds that had blown in on the wind or had been dropped by birds. Together they had taken over to create a mini ecosystem with a little stream running through it. On the forest floor were ferns, nettles, mosses and brambles. It was a tangle of branches and there were places I had to watch my step. My dog and I made countless trips here in all seasons. I meditated there, I daydreamed, I filled my bones with the greenness and the wildness. It opened a place in my heart where I fell in love with wild nature. Sometimes I ventured into the darker conifer plantation but mostly I stayed in the young wood.
One day while walking the 5 kilometres to the wood I had a strange thought. “What if it’s gone?” I had never had this thought before. Like an adult with a small child, I told myself not to be silly, forests don’t disappear. But as I walked down the lane and stood beside the metal gate, I could see that the whole thing had been chopped down. The sense of grief I felt was like loosing a loved one. I had lost loved ones by that point, friends had died. This loss had that same rawness. My wood, my safe space, my wild place, my friend.
Sometimes I remember the trees as they swayed in the wind. I can still hear them creaking. I remember the tangles of ferns and saplings I had to step through and the rustle of the birch leaves. It all lives in a room in my heart.”