How is it possible that such incredibly messy and chaotic structures give me a feeling of peace and relaxation?
They seem like opposite immersions.
Tangling bushes with roots and branches twisted into a huge knot - so complex that it is nearly impossible to find any rhythm in it. There is no beginning, no end, no anchor point, no dominant object.
And yet they are calm in their chaos.
Somehow this chaos is logical and still, with visible layers and depths.
But maybe it is not about their chaotic appearance.
Maybe it is about how they are created.
When we slightly change our perception and start thinking about them in the perspective of time, everything suddenly becomes simpler.
This enormous mass of apparent chaos has grown by itself from a single tiny seed.
It has grown because it had the right circumstances - and freedom.
It has grown because it had the right circumstances - and freedom.
And suddenly our perspective reverses.
What once looked like disorder becomes a celebration of life - a manifestation of freedom and a connection with earth, sun and water - the elements working together to keep it alive.
From this point of view we begin to see incredible networks of connections and relations.
Branches and roots collaborate, sometimes supporting each other, sometimes competing, all reaching towards the sun.
Branches and roots collaborate, sometimes supporting each other, sometimes competing, all reaching towards the sun.
Their need for sunlight and water becomes their fundamental motivation.
Because it allows them to live.
So is it still chaos and mess that we see?
What I see is the purest form of life - and its celebration.
To witness this process feels like a great honour to me.
Trees and bushes are growing. They are rooting.
So what exactly is happening when I carve them into my linoblock?
Is it carving?
Is it cutting?
Is it cutting?
Or maybe it is simply rooting itself.