Kami - in every tree | 19 October - 19 November 2021

Sometimes, what at first appears simple, has other layers folded into it. Two drawings with a hundred creatures in them now hang on the gallery’s wall. These are by Pamela Tait. In both drawings a myriad of shapes from a forest of trees have morphed into a procession of creatures. Some of these spirit beings are tall with totem-like heads and others are shorter, a hairy face poking out from a niche. A few are menacing while most are friendly. It is an echo of our world, and they remind me of Kami, the spirit gods seen in Miyazaki’s beautiful Studio Ghibli films. It is hard to clear this vision from my mind as later that day I walk the dog through an ancient wood that has almost vanished.

I have the feeling that I am not alone here. There is an old spring above the gallery that feels like this too. In some places it feels that the spirits around me are more aware of my presence than I am of theirs, that I am being watched and weighed.

Fifteen years ago, I discovered a love of Japanese films, especially ones with Shinto elements, those that had nature guardians at their core. In many of these films there is a parade like in these two works: when Chihiro crosses the bridge in Spirited Away, the rotating kodama (tree spirits) in Princess Mononoke and even the unhinged parade in Paprika. When the parade is seen by the protagonist, a hidden world is revealed, and the film awakens to tell its story. The glimpsed parade gives awareness of this otherworld and the (im)balances in it. From this vision we gain some understanding of this parallel world, and are able to appease the gods by living like them. Hopefully balance is eventually restored. But that is the world of Shinto-influence Japanese films. I walk on.

Pamela Tait tells me she’s not seen many Japanese films and has never heard of Kami, but I have seen little bits of Japanese influence in the studios of other artists: manga prints are not far from Alan Macdonald and Paul Barnes’s easels, Hokusai waves are in others and Basho’s haikus are often pinned discreetly where they can be read. Parades of spirit creatures, of course, aren’t restricted to Shinto. Fairies are not so different. Like kami, they can be either small or large, friendly or cruel, and are protective of the natural world. They are only sensed when silence has a sound. This is an artist’s secret tool: to be hyperaware, to be able to sit in the dark long enough to see again. Without this, there is less to paint about. An artist should see the straight lines that form a circle.

So, what do we know of kami? They are either foul or fair, so don’t cross them. They are invisible and inhabit sacred spaces: hills, rivers and trees. They move from one place to another – touring their realm. There are many types of kami and each one has a unique role, and finally, if we look after them, they’ll look after us. This is an ancient and somehow right-feeling way to live with nature, and one possibly overlooked by monotheism.

I walk the dog further and look at the vast hole where the forest once was. Burial cairns, hut circles and our archaeological past has vanished with the forest too. I decide to make a rotating kodama (tree spirit) sculpture to leave on my next visit. It is best not to offend the little folk and maybe, with an offering, they will return.

Tony Davidson, 2021