In the Slow Time of Trees

In divinity school, we are often encouraged to “encounter the strangeness of the text”—to forget our preconceived notions of a story and approach it anew. In many ways my photography is an extension of that prompt.

Another oft-loved divinity school staple, Mary Oliver, comes to mind when I practice photography. Her poem, “The Summer Day,” is near canon for all first-year students. The volta in the poem is what I most think about for me and a camera:

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

So photography is my prayer; my way to pay attention to the fullness of ordinary moments: the tender, the haunting, the hostile. I find myself drawn to the pervasive thumbprint of humanity everywhere I look, when I know how to look. Our species has shaped so much of this planet, for good or for ill (though, mostly the latter). Through my work, I ask the viewer to question the steadiness of our understanding of time and human dominion.

In this series, Tompkins Trees, I explore my own relationship with the trees in and around Tompkins Square Park in New York City. Their largeness and steadfastness enchant me. At times, they menace me. One need only look at the image of a fallen branch busted through a park bench after a storm to remember trees can only be controlled so much.

These photographs are made with paper negatives, some of which I hand-coated myself. These are washi paper which is made from mulberry trees. Difficult to expose, fiddly to develop, and breathtakingly delicate once dry, these negatives have humbled me.

And that is only the half of it.

I made all exposures with either my very, very old 4×5 camera or 4×5 pinhole camera. For me, they represent different poles that pull me in photography: speed and precision, endurance and abandon. I printed on very large warmtone semi-matte fiber paper. Moving these papers in the darkroom felt like dancing with trees.

Despite these challenges, the process was as rewarding as it was unrelenting.

From coating mistakes to the visible fibers of the washi-paper negatives, each print carries scars, not unlike the trees they represent. The matte finish scatters light, lending a slightly diffuse, charcoal drawing quality to the final works that draws viewers in. The final intention was always images that were undeniably photographs—just operating in the slowness of tree time.

In doing so, I’ve learned about trees. The trees of the East Village. The photographers of trees of the East Village. Including the inimitable Zoe Leonard, whose work this series is in conversation with.

For instance, trees grow outwards and from the top. It’s why carvings and scars stay at the same height over the years. It’s how they engulf metal fences—like in Zoe Leonard’s Tree + Fence, 6th St. (Close-up) from 1999. In looking at her trees, one has the sense of trees slowly oozing out, taking back the street inch by inch, year by year.

Interestingly, I photographed that same tree at 514 E 6th Street. I didn’t recognize it at first. The metal fence is gone—engulfed or removed, I’m not sure which—and replaced with a tree guard. One small piece of the metal fence is still there, poking out in the middle right. The tree has filled out substantially and lost a few limbs. You can see this change in the last thirty-odd years at aliciafowler.com/514

I also learned when there’s ample space, tree canopies grow wide.

That’s one reason these particular park trees provide such good shelter and shade, be that for the family of Red-tailed Hawks, innumerable squirrels and pigeons, or us two-footed park dwellers. It’s also why the park is so dark at night, including during the 1988 riot. The renovations of 1990-91 fenced off more of the park—and its trees—with iron and a late night curfew.

Finally, I discovered there’s a whole world of people who love trees in New York. Did you know there is a city-kept tree map which includes a care log and statistics on each tree? If you water a tree, you can record that. You can even track the ecological and economic contributions of each tree. There’s that thumbprint again.

Of course, it’s hard to talk about trees without speaking of the wildfires that have ravaged so much of the world these last few years and continue to get worse as climate change accelerates. A week after my show opened the Canadian wildfires turned New York’s air orange and unbreathable as many people and animals lost their lives and homes. And there’s the threat trees face from human folly, avarice, and xenophobia. It is heartbreaking enough to see a wall erected at our borderlands in the USA without seeing the scores of trees and habitats knocked down for such malice.

If I sound like a tree hugger, well, I suppose I have become one through this project. I have long since loved photographing trees around the world. They are an enduring symbol, carved into so many mythologies and histories of knowledge and enlightenment, life and death. What I have loved about this project is getting to know trees, not just as representations, but as individuals. These trees will likely endure after I’m gone. May that be so.

You can view all of the prints from this series at aliciafowler.com/about-tompkins-trees