An unseen world

While completing a PhD in molecular biology, Abid Javed was compelled to find a three-dimensional medium to communicate his research. Marrying molecular forms with Arabic script and geometry in his sculptures, Abid is bringing an unseen world into focus.

Images courtesy of Abid Javed

Abid, why did you choose ceramics and sculpture as a medium for communicating your work?

I wanted to initiate a dialogue, to create a connection between us and a biological world that is invisible to the naked eye. Sculpture was the obvious choice because of the shapes of the molecules I took as reference points, and the room for abstraction in sculpture design.

Can you tell us more about the nature of your studies in molecular biology? What were you researching?

For my PhD, I was looking at a molecular machine called the ribosome and how it is not only responsible for synthesising the basis of life (active proteins) but is also involved in folding proteins and giving them shape. This aspect of my research – looking at how proteins take shape – inspired the shapes and forms in my sculptures. I then went on to look at how viruses replicate their genome during their multiplication cycle. This introduced me to a whole new world of DNA and viruses, which triggered me to develop my current collection – Pleomorphs. I’m still actively involved in this research, which continues to inform my artwork.

Do you think there should be more of a multidisciplinary approach (such as the bridging of science and art, in your case) in the way we problem-solve and understand the world?

Yes. From my own experience, it shows that there can be a beneficial crossover between different disciplines. It just needs some guidance and development to make that bridge. During my research, I learned the benefits of multidisciplinary research early on, having to work with different methods and finding a way to integrate them. Also, a scientific mindset in design helps to understand the basis of materials and the processes that lead to the final object.

What do you love about working with clay?

The fact that it’s malleable. Also, that each clay body has its own character; it’s own way of working with it. That’s what I’ve come to love – mixing different materials and figuring out the best use for it when designing pieces. I also love the raw surface textures of the pieces after they’ve been fired.

How have the past 18 months or so changed your everyday rituals and rhythms?

My daily rhythm has definitely slowed down, which has allowed me to connect more with myself and my surroundings. Before the pandemic, I had a very busy working schedule, constantly commuting within the city and struggling to balance different aspects of my life. The lockdowns made life a little slower and a little more conscious for me. The benefits of this I can see in my day-to-day lowered stress levels, and I’m managing my time better. I’m not saying I don’t miss grabbing that morning flat white and heading to the office, but it’s a welcome change to move away from that ritual.

What is the next phase of your work?

I am currently developing my next phase entering the furniture design field. The idea is to explore and combine my sculptural forms and natural materials, and design objects in a way that would introduce the molecular world into living spaces. This would stem from my existing sculptural designs as well as building on some new work.

Aside from molecular biology, what inspires you?

My own cultural heritage, exploring Islamic arts and my Chinese cultural roots. I also find Japanese sensibilities quite attractive, being conscious of the natural world. And of course 20th-century art and design was a a sheer explosion of creativity I’m very inspired by.

Tell us about your studio/work space, how does it reflect you?

I’m currently in a shared studio space, where I have my own little corner. I’m not the most organised and neat person as I like to see my tools and references in front of me, but I do find getting organised before starting each piece afresh helps.

What's on your bedside table?

One of my sculptures, a paper lamp and some art and photographic monograph books to flick through.

Discover more of Abid’s work at abidjaved.org

Tregothnan

Photographer River Thompson discovers England’s only tea plantation and a small wooden box that revolutionised the horticultural world

Squint and I could be in the rainy uplands of Darjeeling. But no, I’m on British soil – Cornish soil – where acres of tea bushes thrive in the moist, warm air, on the banks of the River Fal. This is Tregothnan: Britain’s first and largest tea plantation.

As I wander around this vast estate I stumble upon overgrown greenhouses, relics of Tregothnan’s horticultural history, which extends much farther than its recent tea-growing eureka moment (they planted their first tea bush in 1999). The Boscawen family, who’ve lived on the estate since the 14th century, have nurtured generations of green-fingered pioneers with a passion for rare, exotic species. They were the first to grow ornamental camellias in Britain – it was observing them thrive and blossom earlier than they do in Darjeeling that prompted garden director Jonathon Jones to wonder if it would be the same for tea, or Camellia sinensis as it’s also known.

But how did zealous horticulturists bring their rare trophies, including tea, back to England, without them perishing on long voyages? The answer is a wooden and glass box known as a Wardian case. And Jonathon happened to find the world’s last surviving example, hidden since the 1850s, in the compost shed.

The case was designed by Nathaniel Bradshaw Ward in the late 1800s, when the British took tea plants from China to British India, during the opium wars. Wardian cases were sent abroad as flatpacks (they’re believed to be the first example of flatpack furniture), assembled in the field and filled with soil and plants. These travelling greenhouses revolutionised the tea market and helped make Britain the wealthiest nation on the planet.

The Wardian Case

The design of the Wardian case (right) was very simple. Plants inside were watered, moisture was drawn up through the roots and lost through the leaves, and the detachable shading let in enough light for the moisture to evaporate, condense on the glass then run back into the soil, keeping it moist. This method ensured the survival of the plants and safe transportation to British India and Britain.

River Thompson is a photographer based in London and Cornwall. His work explores craft, tradition and wilderness, and he shoots on a Hasselblad with colour film.

This article featured in our first issue (originally published in 2014), which we are reprinting as a special Collector’s Edition to celebrate seven years of publishing Ernest. Pre-order your copy on our store page.

Just look up

Deputy editor Abigail Whyte speaks to birder David Lindo, whose childhood memories of discovering the natural world among the dumped shopping trollies in his local river have inspired a passion for urban wildlife that he wants to instil in all city kids

Illustrations by Miranda Harris

Ten years ago, David Lindo wrote his first book The Urban Birder, described by naturalist Stephen Moss as something that should be read by anyone who has ever lived in, travelled through or visited a city for it carries a vital message: “If we don’t notice the wild creatures on our doorstep, how are we going to look after those further afield?”. With a new photographic book out this year, David Lindo spoke to me via Zoom from his home in Extremadura, Spain, to reflect on his career as the Urban Birder, the power of storytelling in conservation, and the importance of cherishing what’s on your doorstep.

“I grew up in London. I had a park just down the road from me – it had a river running through it, which was basically a canal with shopping trollies and scooters chucked in. The water had a film of oil on it. It was pretty crap. On the opposite bank was undeveloped land full of rubble and weeds. That was my countryside. I used to scramble across and make camps, and I saw my first skylarks there. As a kid I thought it was an area that would never change, but it had been earmarked to be built into a massive estate. When that happened, it was my first lesson in habitat destruction. The flock of tree sparrows I’d taken for granted every winter were suddenly gone.

I’m campaigning to make London and other cities less grey, and more green and blue. Of course we need housing, but why not build estates that incorporate a lake and woodland, so that kids grow up learning to love that space and not have the compulsion to dump their crap in it?

As the Urban Birder, my message is global. There’s a whole world out there to encourage and inspire to get into birding. I want to popularise and modernise it – to make birding interesting, sexy and accessible, like Jamie Oliver did for cooking. I also want to popularise the idea that the environment, nature, the planet – it all starts on your doorstep. When you’re sitting outside having a coffee, just look up and you’ll see something – something that has a backstory that spans the planet, not just the high street.

I think there is a problem with how nature is ‘sold’ in the first place. It’s sold as something that’s in the countryside. Eighteen per cent of the British population live in rural areas, whereas 82 per cent live in cities – this needs to be more catered for in nature programmes. Audiences need to be shown more urban wildlife so they can see that cities aren’t ring-fenced from the countryside, and that wildlife isn’t just something you see in a nature reserve. That myth of nature being ‘out there’ is something I’ve been trying to dispel for my whole career.

All respect to David Attenborough. He is the don and his programmes are amazing, but every time a new series comes out, the bar is raised even higher. It’s full of spectacle and action sequences. There’s no lesson from that. And the audience thinks, ‘That’s over there, that’s nothing to do with me. My life’s here.’ I think more can be done to show people the relevance of what’s on their doorstep; how the flowerpot on their window ledge in their council estate flat is connected to the rainforest or the Congo or the Antarctic.

I’ve noticed a resistance among ethnic minorities to admit to being interested in nature. I remember taking two school groups out to show them the grounds of the BBC in Bristol. The first group was from a suburban posh school; mainly white pupils. They came along and – bam – were really into it, searching for buds and other things. The other school, an inner city one with predominantly Asian and black pupils, when they turned up it was a very different atmosphere. They were reticent, quite stand-offish, but I could tell they wanted to be involved so I really worked at it. Eventually they came round. I find that reticence interesting – I think it’s down to the fact that they feel it’s not their world because of what they see around them. All they see is white people getting involved in the countryside. No one black or Asian is doing it, or very few, if any. That’s what the issue is, and that needs to be changed. I hope that by doing what I do, I’m inspiring other ethnically diverse people to think ‘I can do that too’.

I’ve only ever received racism from a birder once. There have been other subtle incidences though, for instance, I used to go out with a white woman who was a birder. We noticed that when we went out birding together, other birders would come up to us (usually white men with beards and bellies) and they’d just be about to ask that perennial question, ‘Is there anything about?’. But they’d look at her and think ‘She’s a woman, she’s not going to know’ and then they’d look at me and think ‘He’s a black guy, he’s not going to know either,’ and then they’d walk off. We’d find it quite funny.

If we can influence lots of people in urban areas and help them realise there’s something worth protecting, then we’d have more people that can help. I’d call that the conservation army – they may not necessarily be birders or anything like that, but they’d have a sympathy, an empathy, so if an issue comes up they’d be quick to put their hands in their pockets or sign a petition because they understand it’s important. And that understanding starts from a local level, when they realise their local park needs to have wild areas, or they think, ‘Maybe I shouldn’t astroturf my lawn – maybe I need to have wild areas so my kids can see butterflies.

My favourite habitat for birding is wetlands. Anywhere where there’s a source of water, that’s where you'll find lots of birds because that’s where they need to bathe, feed and drink.

I love using storytelling to engage people with birding. For instance, for a robin, I explain how it’s a woodland dweller that only started appearing in large gardens on the edges of cities at the end of the Industrial Revolution. As pollution eased, they ventured into urban gardens, which coincided with us becoming a nation of gardeners. The robins realised that by waiting around while we dig with our pitchforks, we’d be exposing invertebrates for them. In their eyes, we’re huge pigs or deer rotavating the soil. Basically, they’ve adapted their instincts and previous behaviour to a modern scenario. It’s those sorts of things that transform birding into a story, that make the layperson think ‘wow’ and look at birds differently. That’s the power of storytelling.”

David Lindo’s new photographic book Birds On My Mind is out now, £19.95; theurbanbirderworld.com

This interview features in our latest edition, issue 11, available to buy through our store page.

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

Recreating perfection

What would the “perfect” horse chestnut or pine cone look like? Inspired by his walks in the South Downs, artist Malcolm Trollope-Davis sought to answer this question by keenly observing growth patterns in the minutiae of the natural world around him. He invites us into his Brighton studio to tell us more…

Malcolm Trollope-Davis’ original ‘Technature’ drawing of a horse chestnut

Malcolm, we love the beautiful simplicity of your Technature designs. What inspired you to create them?

This may sound strange but what triggered the concept was spending most of my adult life illustrating, creating, using and being immersed in computer technology. It’s an unavoidable side of my professional life as it allows you to create exceptionally detailed and precise work. I believe our exposure to computers affects the way we think and feel. So accustomed to seeing perfectly created shapes, I started looking for them in nature during my walks in the South Downs.

Of course "perfect" shapes and forms are hard to find in nature (that's the beauty of nature), but I began to observe acorns and other seeds and attempted to recreate their growth code. I counted the spikes on a horse chestnut and studied the arrangement of its pattern. In my recreation of this I drew a perfect spike protruding from its casing every 45 degrees, evenly spaced from each other. Of course you’d never find a chestnut as perfect as that in nature but I guess I was curious to see what it would look like. For my acorn, I gave it a sort of machine-tooled cup pattern. The end results seemed to be a good balance of technical and nature, hence the ‘Technature’ title of my collection.

Do you often turn to nature for inspiration?

More and more, the older I get! There's something rewarding about recreating the things surrounding you. Perhaps recreating it gives you an excuse to just stand still and take the time to really observe it.

For you, what is the most beautiful thing in nature?

I think the freshness and growth. As a human and certainly an artist, it’s important and therapeutic to have a desire to grow and progress (and hopefully improve). Nature never stops doing this and I find that reassuring as I consider myself part of nature. Also, I’m particularly drawn to the patterns you can see in the spread of branches and the number of points on a leaf.

Your Brighton map is a wonder. Can you please tell us about the journey of making this?

I think the map was a project that fell under that ‘describe your surroundings’ concept, but taking the detail to a very high degree. To all intense and purposes, it looks as though you can see every building in the city and far beyond to Shoreham and Worthing. It’s the result of an incredibly painstaking editing process. To give you an example, in a street of 20 identical houses I may only illustrate 10. Why do this? Well, by using this same process all over the map, house by house and street by street, you can make the houses a little bit bigger. All the rooftops and building shapes have been observed and carefully recreated, but because their size is bigger the viewer can decipher the visual information much more clearly than, say, in an aerial photograph. Resident who live on that street can still say “that must be my house” and hopefully buy an art print! Adding moments in history and famous Brightonians from the past also makes the map more engaging and friendly.

Are there any other projects you're currently working on?

Yes, too many. If I’m not careful they can get in the way of paid work. I’ve just finished writing a children’s book. I’ve been illustrating them for other people for years but had this idea running around in my head for a long time. My partner Dörte suggested I just sit down and get it down on paper. I haven’t had it published yet but the few guinea pigs who’ve been kind enough to read the manuscript have been extremely positive. One 12 year old (who shall remain nameless) finished all 160 pages in just a few days. Other than that, I have a folder with over 50 creative concepts ready to roll, from board games to TV show concepts. I just need more time!

Malcolm Trollope-Davis has kindly donated 15 ‘Technature’ gift sets and a limited edition Brighton Map to our Collector’s Edition crowdfunding campaign, which ends on Sunday 12 December. Please consider pledging so we can keep publishing Ernest in 2022 and beyond.