Lindy Lee: A tree more ancient than the forest it stands in

A conversation between Lindy Lee and Ellen Ferrier

Ellen Ferrier / The title of your show is A tree more ancient than the forest it stands in. This is a beautifully evocative title, and a rather perplexing one also.

Lindy Lee / Yes, at first it seems to be a contradiction, because how could it be so? This is typical of zen koans – they often appear paradoxical, encouraging pause and contemplation until a deeper meaning presents itself. In this case, the tree represents a ‘self’ more ancient than the ground on which we stand. Through virtue of an infinite expanse of interconnections we have come to be here at this point in time. It actually goes back to the very beginnings of the cosmos – to the notion that everything that exists, that has existed and that will exist, is inextricably connected. Matter is not created nor destroyed, but rather, transformed. Each being that comes into this world is innately connected to that primordial spark of creation.

EF / It is a reminder of our kinship with the cosmos.

LL / Yes, a necessary reminder. For in the process of becoming ‘civilised’ we have lost our intimate connection to the earth, to that which sustains and nourishes us, often in ways far deeper than we can ever comprehend.

EF / The significance of the ovoid as a form seems to parallel these notions of continuity and oneness. The shape itself has no real beginning and no end; energy flows into and out of itself. Eggs themselves hold further associations still; of birth and beginnings, gestation, nurture, as well as fragility and potentiality.

LL / Yes, the rich potentiality of life, that’s what these egg forms are about. The fragility of all that. They are seeds of life that call into question how we go about nurturing self and other. Or not. The forms that I use are fairly universally understood, and although they arise out of a deeply personal experience, this particularity is in fact, universal. The role of an artist is to form a connection with your innermost self; to explore all that is going on with you, which you can then process and transmute and translate in your work for other people to connect with. The personal becomes the universal.

EF / Is that why you are drawn to working with such elemental materials like fire, water, metal and wood?

LL / Elements are the fundamental building blocks of nature. They demonstrate how we exist in the world. I believe there is the world of spirit, and the world of matter and form. Spirit is like the the drive for life, that invisible thing that inspires and is concretised through our minds, bodies and actions. When I work with elemental materials, I’m trying to bring, experientially, a sense of wonder and intimate connection with all existence.

EF / There are deeper, more primordial energetics at play here.

LL / My process is to try and show up with a clear mind, without any preconceptions or ideas. Rather, I try engage with what is happening with that material. So it’s not me doing anything as such, but rather a process of listening and responding. There’s a Taoist saying, ‘Before you speak, listen deeply’. The wood suggests something to me. The steel suggests something to me. I respond to the essence of that materiality and the particularity of the piece in front of me.

EF / This ability to respond to an object or material, then comes from a practice of deep listening – something you have been cultivating for more than four decades through your studies in Taoism and Zen Buddhism.

LL / The crux of my practice is about me having intimate contact with that which is real; with the actuality of experience as opposed to the thought-worlds and projections we have about that experience. This is what is meant by the ancient tree. The tree is older than the forest in which it stands because it is born of deep cosmic time. Time that is beyond mere chronology, but rather, evocative of the unfolding of the eternal present, which contains no beginning, and no end, and therefore is timeless.

EF / So the shapes that you use and also the marks that you apply to their surface, come from a place of deep listening that fosters an intimacy and responsivity to the material, the elemental.

LL / The mark is a record of a moment. That moment arises from the confluence of all conditions that exist at that point in time. But the marks also have a consistency with the nature of the material itself.

EF / Several of your wooden eggs feature charred fractals on their surface.

LL / Yes, that is the element of fire conversing with the element of wood.

EF / But it’s also electricity, energy. It’s interesting observing the process of fractal burning, for it is like watching neural pathways light up in search for one another.

LL / It is an incredible process that again, requires intimate collaboration with these elements. In deciding to work cooperatively in this way, I must relinquish control to forces beyond my knowing or my reach. The fractal lines are there because they are there. I can’t direct them beyond the initial placement of the metallic probes. And that is not just part of the process but integral to my practice as a whole. Similarly when I throw bronze, I have the principle, the initial action, but I cannot determine the exact shape at all. For me, art is about co-creating with the universe. Not only the material and immaterial, but the people and organisations that I am fortunate enough to collaborate with as well. It is never about a singular genius, but rather a mutual mingling in this activity called life.

EF / Throughout this whole conversation we have been traversing between notions of the elemental and the spiritual. They seem to have this beautiful permeability and reciprocity, their relationship ephemeral and yet deeply embedded within one another.

LL / When I speak of the spiritual, I am referring to the multitude of experiences contained within that self. Ten thousand million experiences have brought you to this place in time. Spirit is the stuff we cannot pin down, that is so evanescent, that is tangible and then intangible because it is in a state of constant flux in its becoming. The way it happens with me, with everything from the colours I use in my paintings to the materials I am drawn to working with over any particular period of time, is that each of these materials beckon me in some way. They open up a huge pathway of exploration and discovery of my place in the world. The choice is never arbitrary. Ever. It comes from a desire to understand the meaning and connection of my life to the natural, the experiential, the phenomenal. So when I use materials, they enlarge and they confirm my connection with existence.

EF / Circling back to your earlier statement about the personal becoming the universal, it strikes me to reflect on why your work resonates so deeply at this moment in time. The Westernised world that so many of us exist within really does try to assert this sense of isolation, separation and hierarchy. The art that you create comes from a place of quiet listening, responding to inherent qualities of elemental materials, reminding us of interconnection, of oneness and of transience. It seems to me that this is the perfect medicine for such trying times. A reminder of the true nature of existence.

LL / If art can do anything, it can help us connect back with one another and with the world in which we all live. Great works of art penetrate the invisible realms within us. And once there, we begin to question, to be with, to listen.