The Natural Ink Project

Welsh artist and writer Kathryn John shares insights into her practice making ink using pigments sourced from nature, such as rosehips, pine charcoal, avocado stone and oak galls

Kathryn’s black markings with oak gall ink

Kathryn, first of all, what are oak galls?

Oak galls (or oak apples) grow on acorns, leaves and branches of oak trees in reaction to a wasp laying an egg on the tree.

What inspired you to start gathering materials from the natural world to make ink?

I’ve collected things while out on walks for many years. In 2015 I was introduced to the process of natural dyeing by an artist I was training with. She had a beautiful book of her naturally dyed wool swatches. I began researching the process and found it fascinating. I wanted to move away from using synthetic paints in my work, so started to make ink from materials found on my walks.

Why do you like to write and sketch with oak gall ink? How does it feel different to other inks?

The whole process of making and using the ink is a full body, sensory experience. I find it medicinal. Each ink has its own personality, unique smell and texture – when they meet on the page it is a whole different alchemy to other inks.

Tell us about other inks you've made.

I’ve made ink from wild blueberries, blackberries and red dock seeds gathered in the Peak District. Also, yarrow, gorse flowers and roses from the West Wales coast. Blue from copper pipes. Pink from avocado skins and yellows from pomegranate.

What do you enjoy about the process of ink making?

I enjoy how much the process is like being a child again, making potions in the garden. Also, it teaches me a lot about patience. If there’s a particular plant I’d like to work with, I need to wait until it’s in season. It isn't about taking too much of something – the birds, insects and animals rely on this plant too. We are all part of the whole living system. It also feels like a radical act to reclaim a traditional craft in this way and step away from consuming mass-manufactured stuff.

Follow The Natural Ink Project @_kathrynjohn on Instagram

The lifeboat station project

Travelling the coast in a decommissioned ambulance, photographer Jack Lowe is capturing the crew of all 238 RNLI lifeboat stations in the UK and Ireland on glass. At each lifeboat station, he captures three things: the boathouse view (of the waters they’re protecting), a portrait of every coxswain or senior helm and a group portrait of the volunteer crew.

In 2016 – a year into his project – Jack spoke to Joe Stebbing for issue five of Ernest, sharing an insight into his epic tour of the coast, the wet collodion process and his mobile darkroom, a decommissioned ambulance named Neena. Scroll down to read the original article and to find out how the project is going, five years on.

Jack Lowe has put a successful career on the line to embark on a self-funded project to photograph the crew of 238 RNLI lifeboat stations in the UK and Ireland using a Victorian method called wet plate collodion.

The technique is unapologetically analogue, but far from simple. Chemicals are applied to glass, whichis then exposed to light through the lens of his 110-year- old camera and developed in his mobile darkroom, Neena. There is no post-production, and adjustments are made for the slightest change of conditions on the quayside. A single photograph, or plate, can take more than an hour to prepare, compose and ‘make’.

As the plate is developed under the red glow of Neena’s safelights, the reason for the project and his choice of method becomes clear. The plates capture stunning levels of detail and depth, and yet so much more – a plate captures a story and a moment in time, reflected in light and shadow on the sea-weathered faces of its subjects.

JS: How did this project come about?

JL: Let’s call it a midlife correction. I’d reached a point in my life where I had to answer a question: “Do I want to spend the rest of my working days in front of computer?” The answer was an emphatic “No”. So I came up with the Lifeboat Station Project – a combination of my love of photography, the sea and the RNLI.

JS: Why photograph lifeboat crews?

JL: The RNLI strikes a chord for me on many levels.These crew members are volunteers, risking their own lives to save others at sea.They’re embedded in their communities – they might also be fishermen, farmers or teachers. For a rescue organisation to rely on donations and the goodwill of its volunteers is really quite special.

RNLI Minehead helmsmen

JS: Why use the wet plate collodion method?

JL: With this process, I’m making something irreproducible and uneditable.That plate of glass was in the camera, at that location, at that time, and becomes a completely unique photograph. I love that.

JS: Tell us about Neena – she sounds awesome.

JL: Neena is a decommissioned NHS ambulance, hence the name – get it? Built on a Ford Transit chassis, she has a spacious saloon in the back, which I’ve converted into a darkroom. She has two sets of LED lighting (one white one deep red), a fold-down step, extraction fans and she even has an intercom. Basically, yes, she is awesome.

JS: What is the process from lens to finished plate?

JL: First, I pour a chemical called collodion onto the centre of a piece of polished glass. I direct the liquid to each corner of the plate – this is called flowing the plate. The collodion needs to reach an optimum set point (before it starts to dry) so I can place it in a light-tight box containing silver nitrate. Here, a chemical reaction takes place, which makes the plate light-sensitive.

After three minutes, I switch on the red light for darkroom conditions. I draw the plate out of the silver nitrate and place it into a holder designed to fit on the back of the camera. Once loaded, I carry it from Neena to the camera – bear in mind that might mean marching 250m along a pier! I fit the plate holder onto the back of the camera, make the exposure, then take the holder back to Neena.There, I pour developer onto the plate and the image appears within seconds as a negative.

Once development has been halted with water, I open the door for the truly magical part: I pour fixer onto the plate.The ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’, and even tears, from the crew come thick and fast as the plate transforms from negative to positive before our eyes.

The process produces a 12x10in ambrotype – a positive photograph on a plate of glass.

Five women of RNLI Clovelly, Devon

JS: Victorian photographs of sea faring folk seem to offer a true glimpse of the subjects’ character – do you see this emerging in your photographs?

JL: Yes, definitely.The photographs become a facet of the humility and generosity that exist within coastal communities and these lifeboat crews.

I’ve been most struck by the coxswains. Many have held their position for years – some are even the second or third generation.They have a calmness about them that can really take you aback.This reflects really well in the photographs – they seem to have an exceptional talent for standing still during the long exposures!

JS: What will be the outcome of this project?

JL: Eventually, this will form a book and an exhibition of over 700 photographs documenting the RNLI. I hope it will be a worthwhile legacy.

We spoke to Jack for issue five of Ernest (2016), when he was one year into his project. Since then, his journey has unfolded in unexpected and remarkable ways. Five years and 150 lifeboat stations in, Jack’s coastal travels came to an abrupt pause when social distancing restrictions were announced in March 2020. Taking the opportunity to reevaluate his project, Jack built an independent membership platform called The LSP Society, then went on to develop an app for iOS and Android where members can connect, access extra films, audio, blog posts and online talks, while helping Jack to see this historic odyssey through to completion.

Jack has kindly donated 15 sets of limited edition postcards and five limited edition prints of Longhope Slipway to our Collector’s Edition crowdfunding campaign. You can pick up one of these sets and prints on our campaign page, or you can browse the entire collection on the Lifeboat Station Project website.

Paper peaks

Incorporating elements of origami and modelling, Peak District artist Joe Winstanley creates miniature landscapes out of paper - a process that embraces his creativity and supports his mental wellbeing

Mam Tor, by Joe Winstanley of Studio Skai

Joe, how did your paper sculptures of landscapes come about? What inspired the idea?

I’ve always had a deep passion for art and design. I dropped out of university while studying Criminology back in 2017, returned to the Peak District (my home) and became depressed. I began seeking a creative career, and started a clothing company inspired by the Peaks - combining my two loves, creativity and the Peak District. This venture didn’t work out but while developing some packaging I created what would become Skai’s first ever print.

The idea was to create a parcel that, once folded and crumpled, would resemble the hills of the Peak District. After playing around with some marketing concepts using this parcel design I noticed how effective it was an art form. Creating these paper hills was so good for my mental health and I soon realised there was something very special in the whole process. I’ve been doing this ever since - growing my art and my mental wellbeing.

When did you start using sculpted paper as your medium? Is it something you've done for a long time or did it evolve out of more traditional practice like photography?

Using paper as a medium started with my packaging concepts back in 2018. I never set out to use paper, it just naturally happened. After folding the first hill I was hooked. Using paper is very sensory – it has a sound and a feel to it. Everything I make starts out as a flat sheet of paper, so it’s very rewarding to see something come to life in my hands. I think, subconsciously, I began recreating landscapes out of paper as a way of controlling my surroundings; a coping mechanism for anxiety. There are also restraints with using paper, which I’m fond of. There are tears and bumps and folds I can’t predict, which results in nuances in my work.

It was your landscape prints that first caught our eye. What's your process for creating these?

These hills begin with exactly the same process every time. I score lines vertically and horizontally, then score diagonal lines that join the corners of these squares up. The result is a very mathematically precise grid. Once folded, the paper takes on a new form and can be shaped in many ways. The repetition of scoring these grids is very therapeutic for me and the structure is also a nod to the mathematics that can be found throughout nature. Although these hills could be digitally constructed with this pattern, there’s just nothing better than natural light hitting each little triangle of paper.

It looks as though you've been experimenting with Instagram to produce interactive prints. How did you go about that, and did it work well?

Yes, I’ve done three interactive prints now and they seem to work rather well. My first one started at the very start of the pandemic as a way to get people connecting to both art and nature so that everyone could help create a piece of art inspired by nature.

I launched a series of polls on Instagram Stories, asking about composition, types of paper, times of day, weather conditions and various details. The responses determined the result of the print. They’re just a fun way to challenge myself and find out what people want to see. The result is largely out of my control.

Toad’s Mouth capsule by Joe Winstanley of Studio Skai

How many capsules have you made? Do you have plans to make more?

In total I’ve made 20 capsules. The first 10 sold out in one day, which was amazing. They’re a fairly new venture but I absolutely love them. It's a way for me to create something physical that can be appreciated from every angle. People have really become fond of them.

They take a while to make so I can’t churn them out as such – but I think that’s what gives them charm. Each one is unique and a one-off and that’s special to be able to sell something like that.

I’m currently creating some commissioned capsules, which is where they get really unique and personal. I’m being approached to create people's memories, which is a great privilege. Skai is built on recreating memories of natural places in my life, so it’s great to be able to hear other people’s connections and memories.

What’s the strangest material you’ve used in your sculptures? (We saw you mentioned wet toilet roll in one Instagram post!)

Paper remains at the heart of every creation - it’s my paint brush, if you will. I do have plans to start using litter and plastic waste, maybe inside some sculptures or as the sculpture itself. Plastic and litter are a massive annoyance to me, and I think it would be quite poignant to create landscapes out of the stuff left in these places.

Looking through your projects, it appears as though you started big with landscapes and mountains, and have since focused in further and further on the tiny details, moving through your capsules and ending up with your tree studies, where you're experimenting with such intricate details as the translucent torn edges of hazel leaves. How deliberate has this progression from large to small been?

Skai has been constantly changing and developing and I think that’s largely a reflection of my personal growth. I started off folding big hills and mountains at a time when I was very anxious and depressed and as I’ve grown more stable and appreciative of life, my work has focussed more and more on the smaller details of the natural world. It hasn’t been a deliberate progression into the minute world of nature, but it’s helped me to realise that by taking a miniature glance of the world, it can help establish our place in it, that humans are NOT the most important thing. Insects and trees and fungi and birds are just as important and we need to respect that. Recreating nature and my surroundings out of paper is my way of appreciating it and empathising with it so I think whatever I’m creating at the time is what I’m appreciating at that moment.

I’ve treated the whole progression of Skai as a big exercise to the point where now I’m bringing together everything I’ve learned to be able to create whole scenes out of paper – mountains, foliage and creatures alike. To create art.

Are you still based in the Peak District? Do you have a favourite spot and season?

I grew up in a village called Hathersage. I’m now based in Sheffield but the Peak District and more specifically the Hope Valley will always be my home. I’m so grateful to have been brought up there. I love Bolehill Woods, which leads on to Padley Gorge. It’s such a peaceful place where I can just get lost in nature. But each place in the Peaks has its own charm and personality and is filled with lots of memories for me.

Autumn has to be my favourite season in the Peaks.

Interview: Joly Braime

Discover more of Joe’s work on Instagram @studio.skai

Images top to bottom: Win Hill, Winnats Pass, Back Tor and Shutlingsloe, courtesy of Studio Skai

Time and tide

Photographer Luke Brown captures a unique manmade space, free from rules and regulations, yet at the mercy of the elements on Britain’s coastal fringes: the tidal pool

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All images by Luke Brown

Luke, what compelled you to photograph tidal pools?

I discovered tidal pools through an interest in Art Deco architecture, particularly the lido. It was originally this architecture I wanted to photograph, but the season had just changed to winter, all the lidos were closed and it was difficult to gain access. Through research I discovered a space that had no restrictions. A space that was always open to the environment – the tidal swimming pool.

I became interested in discovering man’s influence over the landscape, right up to the very edges of our coastline. The focus was to highlight the conflict between the natural and manmade environment.

The pools are built to withhold water, creating a recreational space. However, the tide dictates the space and the ocean answers to the gravitational pull of the moon. This natural occurrence still holds a dominance over this landscape, dictating the conditions of use, enjoyment and documentation.

Was it a conscious decision to not photograph people in the scenes?

There are some signs of people in the photographs, small dots in the distance walking on a beach or appearing as a slight blur from a long exposure. I wanted to focus the attention on the pools, concentrating on the structure’s relationship with the natural environment, rather than focusing on humans and how they interact with the space.

Did you have ideal conditions in mind for shooting this series?

All the pools are photographed in winter. This depicts the space in the harshest of conditions, when the pools feel most vulnerable to the elements. I also love the cold diffused light. I often tried to capture this just before sunrise.

Did the shoot pose any challenges?

The tide and weather presented interesting challenges during the making of this project. All the photographs were made at low tide, otherwise the pools were often concealed by the sea. The weather, especially the coastal winds also played a part, causing the 4x5 field camera to shake. I used an umbrella to counter this, or if the winds were too strong I’d just try another day.

How has the project been received so far?

It is always nice when someone recognises a pool. Especially when they have interesting stories to tell. Recalling memories and experiences from visiting, often from their childhood.

Which pool did you find most interesting to capture?

Each pool carries with it a different memory. It was often the journey to discover them that enhanced my overall experience. The journeys included unforgettable road trips to Cornwall, Devon and along the east and north coast of Scotland.

Has your opinion of tidal pools changed since photographing the series? What do you hope for their future?

During the making of this project, I spent a lot of time researching all the pools. Finding out their history, as well as discovering their locations. I have become more aware of their importance and what they represent to the people who visit.

The future of the pools lies with the coming together of local communities to keep them maintained. If this collective spirit can be achieved, the pools will survive for generations to come. It’s reassuring to have recently witnessed this happening.

Where do you turn for inspiration - particularly when you're in a creative lull?

Books on themes of creative theory. Films set in America with beautiful landscapes, often a crime thriller. I drift towards the Coen Brothers films to escape and get lost within the story, visuals and journey. But sometimes, nothing beats just getting out there to take pictures – you never know where it might lead.

Are there any contemporary photographers whose work you're particularly enamoured by?

My current inspiration comes from looking at the work of Guido Guidi, Michael Schmidt and Jean Gaumy. I have also become intrigued by the noticeable comparison and direct influence found between David Hockney and Vincent van Gogh’s depiction of nature.

Are you currently working on any other projects?

My recent project Wooded Heights explores the Cairngorms National Park, Scotland. The series aims to show the true value of this landscape, with a focus on the rewilding initiative, and highlights the importance of protecting wild spaces.

I’m currently working on smaller experimental style projects. This involves exploring and developing new ideas hoping they will lead to something bigger and more long-term. The ideas come from a combination of influences, research and getting out there and photographing. It is about trusting the process and hoping it will materialise.

Tell us about your kit.

Time and Tide was photographed on a 4x5 large format field camera. I also use 6x7 medium format along with photographing digitally. I’ve grown to love how the digital medium allows for so much freedom to experiment.

Tell us about your work space. How does it reflect you?

Plants and a good pair of speakers. I spend a lot of time editing as a retoucher, fueled by house and techno music.

How has the past 18 months or so changed your relationship with place, or perhaps your everyday rituals or rhythms?

During this time, I was fortunate enough to be living in the countryside, close to nature and be continually inspired by the environment around me. I have started a new way of working, which involves pursuing smaller experimental style projects. This involves researching and developing ideas, then getting out there and photographing, trusting the process, hoping it will lead to something new or more long-term.

What's on your bedside table?

I don’t actually have one, just a lamp on the floor. During the first lockdown I was inspired by the Minimalism documentary on Netflix, and started to slowly get rid of everything since. it’s surprisingly cleansing – less is more.

Discover more of Luke’s work at brownluke.com

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Issue 11 has gone to print

We’re delighted to announce that our latest issue has gone to print, and for those of you that have pre-ordered or subscribed, you should receive your copy in around two weeks’ time. Thank you so much for your patience and for helping us to steer a course through these unsettled times. If you haven’t had a chance to pre-order issue 11, you can do so through our store page

Photo by Dan Alford

As many of you know, the past 18 months has been a challenging time for us. But after a remarkable crowdfunding campaign, we were able to send issue 10 to print last autumn – and we have been thoroughly heartened by your support ever since, including renewal of subscriptions and pre-orders for issue 11, which we've just sent to the printers!

Here’s what’s coming up in our latest edition, including healing waters in Iceland's Westfjords, memories of the Eiger, unearthing Old West landscapes in Europe, mudlarking on the Thames, a journey to the source of the River Teifi and a 'Russian spy whale'...

Inventory

William Smith’s geological maps; Steller’s sea cow; the history of lidos; photographing the fluid shapes of starling murmurations; 50 words for snow; the Quiet Parks Project; catching mackerel by handline; ramblers’ soap; natural inks; water monotypes; redesigning ghost wear.

Echoes of the Eiger

Revisiting his father’s pioneering route up the north face of the Eiger – famous for being one of the world’s hardest rock climbs – Mike MacEacheran ruminates on the power of memory and mountains, and why we push ourselves to the ends of the Earth in pursuit of the unknown.

A new era of biodesign

Our material consumption has long been out of control. But could developments in biodesign be part of the solution, bringing us closer to a 1960s sci-fi vision of a sustainable ‘Spaceship Earth’?

Nature & artifice

Ministry of Defence domes, tanks and radar towers may seem incongruous with the wild and craggy landscape of St Kilda, but as Bethany Rigby discovers, a military presence can often have beneficial consequences for conservation in remote areas.

Healing waters in the Westfjords

Henry Fletcher explores Iceland’s oldest geological outcrop – known for its runic sorcerers and herbalists, fathomless fjords and weather-beaten mountains, hot pools and cold water surf scene.

Wild West, Wild East

Trigger fingers at the ready, the sound of a whipcrack ringing in his ears, Nick Hunt seeks traces of the Old West in unlikely corners of Europe.

Technicolour scenes

Stanley Donwood is renowned for his Radiohead album covers and eerie drawings of sunken paths in Holloway (2013), but in his latest collection he turns to brash blocks of colour to evoke the rolling chalkscapes of southern England.

Meditations on the River Teifi

Jack Smylie Wild meanders to the source of Afon Teifi, weaving keen observation with childhood recollection, while sounding a clarion call to love and protect our waterways.

Oh hello, Hvaldimir

A cetacean spy or therapy whale? Joly Braime gets to know this big-hearted beluga who just wants to be friends with humans.

River of time

Mudlarking on the Thames: eroded by the ebb and flow of the tide, the crumbling banks of the estuary reveal clues to our evolving relationship with waste.

The humming towers

Pylons have radically transformed our landscapes for almost a century. Gareth E Rees explores the often-haunting symbolism of the metal monoliths that power our world.

On reflection

As flights were grounded and borders began to close with Britain’s first lockdown, Nicola Moyne found herself turning to the inky depths of the Suffolk coast for fresh perspective and purpose. She recounts how the River Orwell taught her to sail once lockdown eased – and reconnect with the wild.

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