Casting Shadows
I’ve come across an artist I like – Andy Goldsworthy - he is someone who makes art in the natural environment. I saw one video of him working outside in the freezing cold making sculptures out of icicles. I am quite new to his work and I’m sure his body of work amounts to more than leaves and stones but they are the works I have seen so far.
I’m drawn to his work because I too have a fascination with leaves and every fall I can’t stop myself from gathering nature’s bounty – I think I may have hinted at this before. In fact here are a few I gathered earlier:
The end of the semester is approaching so it was while I was wondering how to turn this into a final project that I had my timely meeting with Andy Goldsworthy – in his books you understand not in person.
He really is committed to his art so much so that he has taken pictures of his own frost shadows. To do this he poses casting a shadow over a frosty ground waiting for the sun to melt the frost around but leaving the frost that remains because of his shadow. So there are pictures of Goldsworthy frost shadows taken all over the place.
‘I can do that!’ exclaimed the child within.
I live next door to a churchyard that frosts up beautifully when the temperature drops it would be easy to cast my frost shadow – or so I thought.
I went out well dressed for the zero degrees temperature in the absence of long johns I made do with: Vest, jumper, trousers, jacket, fleece, scarf, hat, gloves and boots.
It was a beautiful sunny frosty morning and sure enough I was able to cast a shadow in the frost as I stood waiting for the warming sun to melt the frost around me. Being still and contemplating on a regular basis is probably something I should do more of in my line of work – but I think I’m probably not alone in my tendency towards distraction.
So I waited and I waited.
It was quite an experience to wait perfectly still in the quiet of a December morning and it put me in a reflective frame of mind. I observed the church building from an unusual angle, I thought of all the people who have worshipped at St. John’s over the generations. I speculated about how many would make their annual pilgrimage this year for the Christmas services I am preparing. (And yes I offered a prayer that there would be many). I looked at the houses around and considered how their inhabitants might be spending the day I also wondered just how long it takes for frost to thaw!
My mind also pondered the internal frosts we carry and wondered how long hearts take to melt. As I cast my shadow I wondered about shadows that are cast in our lives and communities for good or ill. And if they have been dark shadows what kind of warmth is needed to thaw the inherited chill?
Forty five minutes later I realised that the frost I was standing in was going to take a lot longer to melt than I anticipated and no amount of my willing it away was going to speed the sun’s rays towards this patch of earth any quicker. I thought I would quit before the cold really got to me but standing completely still outside was a surprisingly powerful experience. So for now I’m leaving this experiment for another day. My shadow is cast but in the frost not of the frost.
On my way back home as I strolled around the churchyard I saw another kind of shadow – in memory of a loved one.
I am reminded that the approaching season is one with it’s own set of shadows – memories of joy and sorrow, love and loss. Yet at this darkest time of year hope is cast once more as we celebrate the birth of the Christ child and the lighting of Hanukkah candles.
