Five years ago, I graduated from art school in
England and ever since, my work has reflected a strong interest in the
natural environment. I am fascinated with biological change and the
fractal nature of our world. You can see the branches of a tree mirrored
in the veins of its leaves. The act of looking closely at the everyday
emphasizes the wondrous beauty of structure, texture and pattern, and
we can see the whole world reflected in a minuscule ball of dew.
It’s hard to say where my love of nature and the outdoors began—I
feel as if it has always been a part of me. I grew up spending endless
hours in the family garden. I recall not only helping my father plant
vegetables and the usual childhood obsessions with making dens and
mud
pies, but also examining the flowers up close and peeling them apart
in anticipation of what I might find inside. I would stare spellbound
at the half prehistoric, half futuristic bodies of the insects that
were later to become a major inspiration in my three dimensional craft
work. Every year I would eagerly persuade my sisters and friends to
witness with me the nest of ladybugs embedded in the cracks of the
garden
wall; if you watched for long enough, it provided real-life insight
into an insect society that appeared so much more organized (although
some may call it brainless instinct) than our own.
Later, as a teenager in school, I couldn’t believe the images revealed
under the microscope in biology lessons—how the plant cells I was
viewing were responsible for making energy for the whole plant’s
physiological activities or providing structural support for a stem.
Such studies highlight the harmony, complexity and necessity of an
ecosystem
at both the microcosmic level and in the world at large. We are reminded
of both its resilience and fragility, how it responds to a myriad of
influences and the importance of our own role within that system.
Teaching children’s craft workshops at the Bath Environment Center
in England has enabled me to pass on the fascination with both nature
and art that I grew up with. Together we have made a Christmas tree
out of twigs and branches and decorated it with insects crafted from
recycled paper, and made a life-size sculpture of a bicycle using discarded
wood—all the while discussing the importance of sustainable transportation!
This combination of craft and theory seems to be a perfect way to appeal
to their imagination and environmental awareness.
In cooperation with the National Trust (which oversees the British
equivalent of America’s state parks), I and other artists designed
workshops based on the theme of historic gardens and buildings. Children
from
inner city schools came to experience the beautiful surroundings and
made environmentally-inspired art pieces. This was a very important
task for me, since I believe all young people deserve to get in touch
with nature no matter where they live. This brings them closer to our
natural environment and the creatures with whom we share it with, so
that they might be more inclined to protect and respect it as adults
and (who knows?) maybe even as policy makers.
Crafting items on school grounds has been a great way to engage children
in their very own ‘garden art.’ We made live willow structures
in the form of creative tunnels, domes and mazes that also served to
section off areas of the grounds where ugly wire fencing would have
been used otherwise. Using live willow means that we plant the ‘sculptures’
in March so the children and teachers can see them bloom into leaf that
summer and for years to come, so it’s truly live nature-art.
Nurturing others’ appreciation in natural crafts and recalling
my own childhood way of looking at things has reawakened and inspired
my artwork. I now regularly sculpt all sorts of objects from willow
branches. I zoom in on the very small, such as pollen grains, sea urchins
and insects, and I make large willow versions of their basic structures,
which makes it easier for observers to appreciate their form, such
as
my dog-size grasshopper.
My photographic work is often taken with special close-up lenses that
allow me to blow subjects way out of scale, thus drawing in the viewer
so they can assess what they are actually seeing. They are frequently
surprised to learn that it is ‘only’ a dandelion weed. Using
microscopes (inspired by high school biology lessons!) has allowed me
to produce cellular images from plant samples. A lot of fun is had in
the process, seeing amazing patterns for the first time! I can’t
gather the whole world around one microscope to witness it with me,
so the next best thing is for me to capture it in a photograph so that
as many people as possible can enjoy it.
I feel privileged to inspire people to look closely at their surroundings,
to respect its beauty, fragility and necessity, and—where possible—to
have some life-affirming, creative fun in the process. It seems that
not much has changed since I was a child.
Julie Starks is an artist, photographer and sculptor living
and working in Bath, England.
