|Posted by annareynolds on June 15, 2011 at 12:42 AM|
Away 2011, giclee print on photorag, 1mt x1mt, edition of 10
away from my tree and shack
from the beach and the mangrove
far from the wilderness and sanctuary
I swear to you
I will never make any boring art
When we bought our home in Batchelor it was the tree, a large Ficus Benjamina that sealed the proverbial deal. Gracefully shading 60% of the residence, I loved the building but the tree: I loved more. Thick cords of trunk woven into each other like veins, it’s girth was ample to hide in and behind. Reinforced with a neighbor’s declarationthat the tree was full of ancestral sprits and should never be cut or burned, I was sure I’d found my sacred plot. This was the tree I’d been looking for, the tree I wished to live under, a place where I could be creative.
An aerial root had taken lodge in a gutter, It’s finger like tentacles had slowly advanced year after year. It had a stronghold and was compact on the old roof. On top dense leaf matter had collected and had started growing small saplings and worms in abundance. My father, the voice of sensibility, would ring weekly asking ‘you sorted that tree out yet! Meaning had I had it pruned, removed from the gutter – had I controlled the invasion. I resisted. Sadly the day came when ‘Wally’ the tree doctor came and amputated its limb. No longer were they joined: tree and house. This year I’ve been traveling the world and missing my tree.