An artist's book by Michiel Schepers

4.12.2014 - 4.01.2015

I recently received a book by post which really made my day. It is an account of Michiel Schepers time on the residency with Rainforest Expeditions. The writing is a bit like long aphorisms, at one level disjointed independent paragraphs, yet as a whole so very representative of how one 'looses' oneself in the rainforest, of how difficult it is to stay with any one thought, any one perspective, any one discovery or observation for very long. At the same time it is a sustained effort of obversation of everything between the forest floor and the towering canopy that obscures the sky above.

This week, Michiel came to visit for a couple of nights- interrupting his planned trip through the alps to answer my invitation. We were so busy together that I forgot to take a picture of the first Artist to have visited the first two Trelex Residencies - something that in and of itself felt like a massive event to me. I am so excited at the potential of Trelex Residencies to build international networks of Artists supporting each other...

Michiel had a bit of interaction with Secil Erel and Gizem Ünlü - presently residents at Trelex - but mainly we worked long hours together at tightening up the layout, graphic design, text, organisation and presentation of his book to produce a pdf, available for now on issuu:

The next step will hopefully be to print this into both a large edition for sale at the Rainforest Lodges shops and a small edition of hand-finished signed artists book for showing in Galleries together with Michiel's huge watercolours from his amazonian residency last year. A typical project for The Trelex Residency. And a brilliant example of how taking a chance on an Artist without any application forms will more often than not produce something of value that surprises both the host and the artist in equal measure - something that couldn't have been planned for without considerable anxiety on both sides of the equation.

Nora Schaffer 'Loosing Our Self'

25.03.2014 - 25.03.2015

Nora Schaffer writes about 'Loosing Our Self' one of the projects she worked on during her time as artist in residence in the Amazon. 


Kristen, my identical twin sister (and my fellow resident), and I have spent most of the last ten years apart. We weren't very close the 18 years we did spend together. And now she's married and living in an entirely different country than myself. So, as we took this journey into the unknown together, it occurred to me this would be one of a few opportunities we'd have to work together as identical twins.

My supposition is that twins are not any one thing that can be understood from the perspective of someone that is not a twin. I think how excited one is to realize they are meeting twins or merely telling someone I am a twin is enough to set off a serious of questions: what's it like? are you close? do you like the same things? etc etc you get the picture, my favorite - wanna be in a threesome? So forth, and so forth, that any sort of visual representation of twin, is more often than not, given the likeliness of an artist being an identical twin, fetishizing twin-dom.

So. Are we the same person? This is a the type of question that has an obvious answer (we aren't) but makes me wonder whether there is an alternative answer. Is it possible that we could be the same person?

For me and Kristen, two very different people and two functionally different artists, it seems unlikely. Looks alone, we're not the most convincing of clones. Kristen is about two inches taller, has a more impressive bosom, and overall a more well-defined facial structure with a prominent chin. I am daintier in size, and softer by appearance.

As a photographer attempting to examine a long history of artists fetishizing twins, the way we look next to each other matters. I decided that I'd have to carry out this project under the assumption we pass as identical twins.

Under that assumption and the assumption that we were different yet there was a omnipresent question of sameness, I chose to focus on a situation in which there was a potential for the confusion of our individual identities.

It just so happens we were on our way to the jungle, which is easy to get lost in. And it seems that loosing ourself is exactly what I wanted to test out.

I go into the jungle, or she does, and do we assimilate, loose oneself, find oneself, or become each other? Who am I and who is us? The jungle provides a mysterious, highly textured backdrop for the story.

Influences included Ingmar Bergman's PERSONA which features two biologically unrelated actresses who uncannily resemble each other physically as "doubles" who in turn confound and confuse their identities with one another; and the 1510 painting St. George and the Dragon by Albrecht Altdorfer, in which identity (literally) is surrendered to the forest.

Working title is "Loosing Our Self" and the following is a selection of unedited sample scans from many 35mm slide still film exposures I took over the course of three weeks in the jungle surrounding the Tambopata Research Center. There is a 50/50 split of self-portraits and portraits of me and my identical twin sister. For book or for gallery, my hope is that the representation of twin is reunited with the question of identity. "Classical Twin Photography" too often looses sight of the potential for subjectivity of the "objects" represented.

Following the visual story, perhaps long after the fact and separate from whatever primary presentation is made, will be a grouping of anecdotes of what it's like trying to to make art in the jungle which is filled with an enormous amount of creepy crawly things who all seem to have a creative bent, wanting to involve themselves in the process. Not to mention the oppressive heat which makes trouncing around in a full length, neck-binding, polyester dress akin to hell in all regards. Nor was it great when groups of international tourists would come stumbling across our paths while we were in the middle of changing in and out of dress (as there was only one). And of course using an assistant photographer (Kristen), who has no understanding of how a camera works and in especially a hard study in trying to explain the mere concept of a double exposure, useful to me whatsoever. Save it to say, Kristen was rewarded for her willingness to participate. Unlike the time a friend of mine dawned red wig and jumped into the a extra wide skirt with me one halloween long again, Kristen is and will always be my only identical twin sister.

www.norasandman.com

Photographs by Nora Schaffer

A beautiful portfolio of images by Nora Schaffer taken during her time spent on the Trelex Amazon Residency.

From Nora Schaffer

25.03.2014 - 25.03.2015

C1 is one of our favorite trails. It goes along the river north of the port and then wraps around along the bank of a turquoise creek as far as the big phaicus which is conveniently not that far from the lodge. A nice hour and a half long walk at the artist pace, and our chosen walk for the day. The researchers had a light morning of washing macaw diapers so we extend the offer of diversion. Carla with her machete and Tom with his cameras are happy to join.

We pause at an open cut in the line of trees guarding the river and begin our inspection. I had taken Tom and Melanie over here for a series of sweetheart photos just yesterday. Kristen, who begrudgingly serves as my second assistant (if she only knew how to read the light meter I'd make her first), spotted a beautiful tree snake just as Tom and Melanie were about to kiss.

No snakes today. We move on. A bluish fronted jackamar flies into the picture briefly and hope is regained. We exchange stories as we walk knowing full well the forest is listening. Tom is a few steps ahead at the next lookout. My face is following a finely drawn labyrinth of roots when the word otter drifts through my ear.

"Otter?!"

"No...well maybe..."
We all lean far over the torn earth to get a glimpse. About forty meters south are ripples spewing across the swift upstream current.

Without much consideration we run back to the beginning, yesterday's garden of Eden. I'm holding my camera high in one hand and my bag low in the other as I scramble through the vines and roots. I'm the last to arrive. Three sunny backs crouching hand on knee over the edge. I find my place next to them and there he is, the sweetest little face I ever did see.

 

"Aren't you the cutest wittle thing you ever did see you cute wittle thing."

(I'm not sure but it almost seems as if he was annoyed we missed him when we first passed).

Without any hesitation we coo and kiss and devolve into baby talk as this rather oversized otter lifts himself onto the bank about two meters below. His wide toothy grin is useless in putting up that barrier you'd usually place between yourself and carnivorous jungle creatures. Pretty soon we're belly down on the ground reaching out to him.

After a series of urgent calls on the Walkie talkie we finally have what's left of the research team gathered. Our new four-footed friend is pawing below us on the bank. He gives us a chance to take a few more videos and snorts goodbye before slinking back into the river. Devastation found its why into our eyes as his bobbing head drifts away.

Goodbye dear friend!

He's halfway to the river's other side. He turns to us and smiles. We break into enormous applause, crying, jumping up and down. I've never clapped my hands so hard. We don't stop. And nor does he. It's that moment when the Seabiscuits of the world pull ahead into first place. Pure Pride. Our otter is coming home.

Kneeing on the soft mud to welcome him, we tell him how much we love him and how much we never want him to go and he barks and whines and we know he feels the same.

That was yesterday. We still miss our otter. We've named him Percy even though the hard overnight rains mean that Percy has moved onto another scene of his life.

It's not the first time we've anthropomorphize the jungle wildlife. There is Wendy, the mouse opossum, who visits us at night. It's easier to believe there is just one Wendy. There is Tortellini the golden-toed tortoise, who talks very slowly of course. There are all the many Macaws. Mandy Lu and Chechewy love to take Selfies and the naughty Tabasco only likes the creamy center of Oreos. The monkeys don't have names, but they are definitely like you and me, perhaps just better at jumping.

Perhaps. Perhaps it's like this for some parents. We cannot help reflect something in ourselves unto the very young, innocent ones. Until they can talk our language, I'm pretty sure that we will continue to provide them with personas not of their choosing. We could also go into a discussion of racial superiority and/discrimination towards people with disabilities, but we'll save that discussion for later....

One thing is for sure, we are patronizing the species we talk down to, because somewhere we got it into our heads that these animals have less than a two-year-old's cognitive ability. I look at Darwin. His principal of natural selection admits that all species are equal to each other, a utopia without hierarchy. He wrote just short of including humans in this equation. But I believe in my heart that he thinks no higher of human's evolution than he did of his finches'. It is because we, as humans, believe that we are smarter than these animals, especially the cute ones. The challenge we face is learning to speak Otter, Opossum, Tortoise, Macaw and Monkey.

Is this a problem we need to fix? Does it hurt anyone to draw sketches of "parrot divorce court". Or design jungle animal emoticons? Or write our latest animal Yelp reviews? Should we stop creating memes of cute cats? Or even giving names and voices to our animals unless they can give their express consent? Do these animals even mind? Etc, etc...

For the moment, I'm am going to continue to finger paint an army of red-coated Macaws.

Tambopata provides the setting for this reflection, a place where species so specialized as the Taragana fire ant and the Tapir remind us they are just has highly evolved and superior as we are. And it just makes you ask, "what they think of us?"

From Nora and Kristen Schaffer

25.03.2014 - 25.03.2015

Up the Rio Tambopata, near the national reserve, we relax in a noisy little oasis.

We are lost to the rest of the world. So much so the slightest reminder throws us back into it.

Taylor Swift is currently poking a hole in our isolated, but vast glistening bubble. On the plus side, when discussing the possible advantages to Alina's sudden and unexplained deafness, she cooly replies 'that is my defense mechanism", protecting herself in this lost world.

We've been taken in by the jungle, adapting as the animals do hiding in the presence of vibrations, or in our case, music. Waking each morning by the extraterrestrial moans of the howler monkeys and falling asleep to the scratches of the mouse opossum above the bed, not to mention the pterodactyl-like shrieks of the macaws unseen from underneath the hatched roof passing by all day long. It all leaves poor Taylor sounding a bit boring.

 

Today we just made art. Alina drew in the morning. and Kristen and I did a test shoot around the lodge for my project in the afternoon. We've been wandering the forest for days. Since before sunrise to after sunset. Saay led us through the forest with utter poise, saving us from unseen ants under extending branches and waiting patiently as we took it all in. We're allowed to go out on our own now, but today we didn't. We sat and soaked in the glory.

 

The difficulty, as artists, is trying to focus in the middle of sensory overload. I've done many photo studies on texture, but here you find patterns, repetition, detail, complexities, and dynamics in just about everything. Oh, and not to mention RGB. This is a true wonder bridging the gap of nature and technology. Aside from the occasional tropical bird or fruit, everything is red, blue, and green. Very little blending. Sort of mod, in a hippie way. I'm anticipating the S-curvve.

All the researchers and tourists take great interest in our practice. The researchers question and hope to engage with out practices. We sit at the bar and chat each evening. Tim, the lovely manager here at Tambopata Research Center, is warming up to the idea of us holding work-shops on rainy days. He even suggested doing formal presentations on the work we're doing, which we will gladly do. We take equal interest in the researchers as they "play" (observe) with baby macaws and climb great trees.

 

The tourists, from Norway, Japan, Toronto, California, New York, Germany, and Australia (thus far), have demonstrated both intrigue and discomfort at our presence, the latter of which I was not anticipating. The three of us have been immersed in artistic communities for so long (those in London, New York, Toronto, and elsewhere), that we have plain forgotten that art isn't always considered 'real' work or a reason to come to the jungle. We've heard "Now, why on earth would you shoot 35mm?" or "Were your parents artists?". Each time is another opportunity to practice on our presentations.

 

Let's just say we are perpetuating a fascinating dialogue pulling on threads from the lives and minds of those living here and those just passing through. I was worried for so long, well for three whole weeks, that 27 days in the most isolated place I could image would be too much. Now I savor each second, hoping time will slow itself so we can continue to see and enjoy this unimaginable beauty.

From Alina Dolgin

21.02 - 13.03.2015

Walking from the boat I held my breath. My eyes focused solely on the narrow path before me. The Refugio Amazonas Lodge greeted me like a ship rising out of the green. I was at once invited to join a group walking on the trails over the coming days. The unexpected nature of things to come was not to be underestimated.

During my stay, I spent 5 days going on the trails for up to 5 hours at a time. The combination of joy and a new level of physical exertion were overwhelming but still familiar and tangible. Less familiar was the demand to engage with the environment. The physicality of the terrain contrasted to my usual predictable urban experiences, such as walking on concrete. I found myself navigating locations full of unfamiliar shapes formed from intertwined living and dying vegetation.

The guides taught us to move through this landscape whilst astounding us with their knowledge and awareness of our surroundings. The variety of landscapes we reached with their guidance was impossible to replicate without them. Besides giving scientific context, the routine of walking the trails helped me to adjust my daily schedule to the demands of the climate. In my case, it also built up my courage to face the unknown…  

After a few days, emerging from the fog of my first impressions, I was left with some open questions. Firstly, the recognition of the synergy of every object in the forest, not only visually, but also on a functional level: for example, in the co-operation and the co-adaptation between the animals and the plant world.

This functional and aesthetic unity is so obvious, that I wondered how do humans, upon entering this space, fit into this ecology? The second question followed of how to transmit my experience of a place whose essence cannot be reduced to its parts; and moreover, what would a reproduction of the experience achieve? 

This question of visitor versus inhabitant was probably fuelled by the environmental concerns that see foreign influences as primarily intrusive to the habitat.

But equally, this notion lingered due to the feel of the place. The experience of being there wasn’t a mere moving through the landscape; it felt more like acting it out. The skin sensitive to the heat or the occasional fright, the feet sliding or climbing - negotiating changing horizon and points of view.  Through the relational nature of my intrinsic physicality, I felt completely immersed. Hard to think oneself a detached observer when one is molded into space in that way. 

Simultaneously the corridors and the enclaves, the tiers, the shadows and the symmetry of plants made it feel like a series of spaces or rooms. Heterogeneous and delicate, appearing dependent on the direction one was facing and seemingly only existing at this one point of view. The architectural feel was also supported by there being virtually no breeze - a large unmoving stillness.

 

The experience of inhabiting the rainforest called for seeing the space as ‘lived’ rather than a vessel containing objects defined by proximity to one another or myself, and that fact alone seemed worth probing. The objective environment became a subjective one that was at times hostile and truly disorientating, but mostly humbling in its serenity – infinitely unfolding.

This residency was planned as a time for me to find a way back into independent work. My desire to enter into a dialogue with a place coincided with and contributed to my re-evaluation of my position in the world and the art practice. As my body acted out and recorded the landscape, I felt the need to interrogate my position as a participant rather than an observer. As a stepping-stone to answer that question I ‘practiced’ orientation as an interaction with and an active construction of the space, whilst paying tribute to that powerful place.

The series of work that I then began is based on observations and aimed at tracing the active ‘reading’ of space, as it unfolds before the eye.

By keeping this process transparent and allowing the composition to ‘open’ sequentially, I think the viewer may trace gestures and lines to find that illusory space in the two-dimensional work. I have an interest in requiring effort from the viewer to negotiate the surface of the work, to reflect how making sense of our environment requires lived time. How much effort is one willing to put in, so that the unfamiliar may come to feel nonetheless harmonious? Can the viewer accept not knowing, being disorientated whilst choosing to stay willful and engaged?

I brought some books and articles along that could help focus and shape my practice. While researching interdependence and the idea of a lived body, I stumbled upon symmetry as a good companion for my practice at the residency.

Symmetry may exist on a plane or as completely enclosing 3-dimensional space - a complete unit in itself. This echoed the forest as a complete organism.

Mainly because the household has a routine I found it difficult to work inside the Refugio Lodge, as I was the only one outside of the tourists' schedule. When I did, it sometimes felt awkward and inconvenient to the team and compromised my privacy.

However, staying at Refugio prepared me for independent exploration and gave me space and comfort to acclimatize to the forest.

I then spent two weeks at the Tambopata Research Center, where the proximity of scientific research is more conducive to my way of working. I think Michiel in his post writes brilliantly of the challenges and joys of talking to guests and teams at the lodges.

Rising around 5-6am allowed for more working hours, as a rest of 3 hours around midday was unavoidable. When drawing, the wide brimmed hat was vital, especially as standing still in the forest attracts insects - it doubles as a frame to hang a light cloth over creating a kind of curtain for the face. I quickly found that setting up a whole painting station was overambitious, and settled for faster sketches, but at the lodge, there are folding chairs designed to take along to bird watching – very handy for drawing as well.

Another material that I found essential was a varnish to fix the pencil lines, as pencil will bleed into paper. Paper absorbs the moisture overnight making it very soggy. For the same reason, I put every piece of paper that I wanted to save overnight into plastic wallets (usually used for ring binders or plastic folders). To expand available storage space and to dry paint or varnish, string came in handy, as well as clips. Finally, to express my gratitude to the hosting community I brought a number of boxes with colored pencils for the local school found in a stationary store. Also, some solid rain ponchos for the guides found at a hardware store. Both are near the famous market in Surquillo, Lima. For future visitors, a welcome gift would be a memory stick with films, and chocolate, for the Research Center team.

Some practical notes:
- There are good shops for art materials in Lima. Two are in Miraflores just 5 min walk apart. One is on the corner of Av. Ernesto Diez Canseco and Calle Alcanfores, the other called Van Dyck is in Av. La Paz
- A fantastic place to print good quality images and a lot cheaper than in London, for example, is Centro de la Imagen in Av. 28 de Julio 815, Miraflores


Leaf Portraits by Alina Dolgin

From Michiel Schepers

4.12.2014 - 4.01.2015

The rainforest was my home for a lavish period of more than five weeks: a most generous opportunity offered by Trelex in the Amazon Residencies and Rainforest Expeditions.

The rainforest is a unique environment because it is situated outside human civilization. Pristine forest by definition eludes human order - we can clear it away but we cannot govern its growth. The forest interior lacks the straight lines and angles of human constructions. To work as a painter in the forest is to do an internship outside civilization.

My final objective was to be in the forest, walking and working on sketches and drawings, and not to go somewhere else, or aspire to something not yet present. Wildlifeviewing and birdwatching, like research, hunting and colllecting, are dynamic pastimes. They concern things and answers that are not yet there, still to be found. They keep us busy, and lead us on, at the expense of our awareness of the here and now. As artist-in-residence, I felt I should take responsibility for the here and now, and not let leave it aside, while looking for more spectacular birds and animals.

The sea of leave from the canopy tower, Refugio 50 x30, watercolour

My main discovery, while sketching on the trails of the vast Tambopata Reserve, was that the primeval forest is static, not dynamic. The forest space may be governed by growth and decay, but I saw neither. Standing under the trees on the forest floor, gazing up and down and around, nothing moves, grows or falls apart. The leaves are fresh, or worm-eaten, or dry on the ground, but none change shape. Even though I learnt that fallen leaves and organic matter swiftly metabolize back into the trees, I never saw this. This I consider an important discovery. During this long residence I have tried to give it shape in sketches meant to depict not process but final product. These forests have looked exactly as they do now since time immemorial. Yet strangely, their appearance has rarely informed serious painting. They even resist photography, unlike the creatures that inhabit them.

Leaflitter, 30 x 20, watercolour

Still life, 30 x 23, watercolour

The forest is a space composed of living organisms which, paradoxically, do not continuously change it but keep it as it is. It is inhabited by animals that fly, walk, climb or swim, but they follow fixed routines. At eight in the morning, the smaller parrots are at the claylick; at eleven the great macaws can be counted on to be there instead. The wondrous antbirds are restless but fixed residents of the undergrowth. They call from the same spots every day as I pass.

Ceiba, 30 x 40, preparatory sketch, pencil and chalk

Ceiba, Posada Amazonas, 50 x 65, watercolour

What the trees and vines, the tangled undergrowth and the high canopy compose is a unique interior, in which none of our rectangular and geometric rules of interior design play any part. Treetrunks and branches are crooked and divided; foliage is formless and diffuse. And yet the tangled space in between is perfectly accessible – as long as you don’t catch the sharp hooks of the bamboo in your clothes but step gingerly around the obstacles. When you learn to look at it it is even elegant in all its details. The effect of being in the forest is to be comfortably embedded in a most subtly shaped and finely differentiated home. The mood of those shady chambers and corridors is serene. 

The painter’s problem to overcome is the initial shapeless impression, yes, the near impossibility of looking at the tropical forest. It baffles me. Too much, wherever I looked confused the eye. I was tempted to keep my eyes on the muddy trail before me. But with time, with patient standing there, a few steps off the trail, and sketching the little leaves, the thin stalks, and the darker shades of treetrunks further off, the forest let me in on its masses and tangled lines. To feel at home there, in the one space not affected, where it survives, by mankind, is a truly ecstatic sensation.

More practically

As Nina Rodin rightly observes on the website, an artist in a tourist lodge must improvize: paint in the bedroom or carry stuff back and forth to the tables in the dining areas between meals. He or she must bring all materials, paper and canvases along, or paint on disused mosquitonets or rough hardwood boards… I did mostly preparatory drawings and watercolours, so I must extend my residency at home in Holland, to paint my grand conclusions…

As this residency is new, the staff, guides and guests were not yet used to it. So far from civilization it takes some explaining to introduce oneself as ‘artist’. The scientific approach to nature is much more congenial to the guides, researchers and visitor… To explain what you are doing there may leave some healthy doubts in the artist’s own ‘artistic’ sense of identity. It goes without saying that an effort is needed to feel part of the constantly changing lodge community. The importance of three communal meals a day must not be underestimated – not just for their excellent quality. In the two lodges where I felt most interest and support from the permanent staff it was most comfortable to be. With the excellent guides, who come and go with the guests, I shared most of my love for the wilderness, the trees and the birds. They are the key to quickly feeling at home on the trails.

Guide with guest, 20 x 30 pencil

Plié in fourth position, Refugion, 30 x 40, pen

Since the regular guests never leave the lodge without their guide, I had to gain that privilege, indispensable for my solitary purposes (‘with a companion the eye remains closed, and inscape will not come’, Gerald Manley Hopkins). In the Refugio and the TRC I accompanied the guides and their guests for a few days until I knew the trails well enough to go alone. In the Posada I decided (and nobody objected) to explore the trails by myself, which is quite confusing and exciting. That confusion and excitement too is essential for a sense of the undeveloped wilderness.

In general, I would say that this Amazon residency is ideal for any landscape artist habitually exposed to the elements. For a more conceptual artist, the confrontation with the raw wilderness must be full of discoveries. I am dying to to hear from those who will take up the challenge in the months and years to come, and to see their work.

In practise, there are no great dangers for a cautious person. I did come home, however, with an insect bite that has every appearance of a potentially serious illness: Leishmaniasus, which I must have caught at the TRC; it does not occur at the other two lodges. I will have to watch it and perhaps seek treatment if the wound doesn’t heal or multiplies. By the way, there has been no case of malaria in this area in recent years…

Any further questions of a practical or impractical nature are welcome, as they will remind me of those wonderful days among howler monkeys and motmots, jacamars and antbirds, but above all, amid the leaves.

Michiel's Facebook Page

Michielschepers.edicypages.com