Dedham Vale, near the Stour, laying in the grass, spring is returning and so are the tourists, and field recordists, warmth and aircraft, the familiar tropes of getting out and getting away, dog walkers are taking over the lanes, skylarks are taking over the airwaves. Is there any subcultures organising in the fields, events or gatherings of the natural, of the humankind, slow dancing on the paths, euphoric breathing of air, the waving of glow worms to the drop, meadowcore, earthstep, brisk jockeys of the wind, banger after banger, kissing gate, stile.
A small aircraft acrobats in the misty blue, bees now bumble so it must be over 10ºC, returning to its nest, a hole, a home, a kit paying equal amount of attention to the ground but from its lofty view point, both have unequivocal access to the land, but it’s different to us, different rules for different animals, no division amongst non-governing species, for us its special, more complicated as a means to exclusion, ownership, Matalan posse in the hood, blue and brown hooded coats, just in case, sensible boots and socks with a spare pair in the boot, the soft cotton wool like clouds, forming to the left not to the right, as it should be, a blue puffer jacket more blue than the sky but less blue than lapis lazuli, everything taking a long time on this project, but I should see that as a blessing and something that I need to make use of, taking the time between nodes in order to push it further along, work in the background, like making a painting before putting it on display, EAT SLEEP PAINT REPEAT, but I’m not a painter, for me it would be more like EAT SLEEP SIT IN A FIELD LISTING TO SKYLARKS AND MEADOW PIPITS WHISLT CONTEMPLATING THE EXISTENTIAL SIGNIFICANCE OF A BLADE OF GRASS REPEAT, keep the wheels turning, poor rural service as usual so there is only one bus right now and I need to be on it, to go FURTHUR! Am I on it or not? I don’t have to try the Electric Cool Ade, but I do need to continue to join those synapses, walk the neural pathways, find the elusive skylarks of my mind, look down upon me like the kite to gain a new perspective, see the abundance of ideas and directions in which to follow them. Everything and everyone seems to be on a lunch break now, it’s super quiet, but perhaps that is a good thing, to be cherished, for a moment of calm, a brief respite fro the condinuum.
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There is some smoke rising from near to Dedham Church, the village is about a mile away, visible through the mist, the clomp of two pairs of wellies, the sky a blanket of grey as it was yesterday, a skylark somewhere up in the gloom, a flotilla of gulls navigating the space occupied by a circling buzzard but leaving it well alone, trial bikes tear-arsing around somewhere nearby, a distant train, the footsteps of a mother and daughter, Blue Tit and jet compete for attention but their differing frequencies mean there is room for both, a flock of geese.
Grey and green the livery of today, in this place right here right now I’m completely un-mithered, helped by the fact that I remember that a gorgeous person gave me a slab of sea salt and caramel chocolate earlier, it is slightly soft from being in my pocket so I leave it out on my bag to firm up a bit, the wind picks up but it is neither cold nor warm, pins and needles are starting in my legs so I have to get up, quietly I check the recording but that’s never quiet enough, 32 minutes, I need a more comfortable stool, a couple talking that stop as they walk by, (Great! A sneeze and cough, I’m doing well being quiet today!), a bumble bee, the smoke in the town is increasing, maybe driven by the increase in wind speed, the mic stand clonks so I need to make sure it is done up tightly in the future, a jogger spotted in my peripheral vision, suddenly my focus shifts and I’m not now in the moments of thought but in the reality of being here outside, in a field, alone, with all my kit, wearing black and blue, my uniform of today. The smoke from the fire now completely obscures the church from view, there is some definition in the sheet of grey cloud, two people on a distant path stopping to look at something, then carrying on, I see the skylark dancing in the sky, singing in the drone of the background noise, in front of me, a short song before darting to ground, the show is over but it is not for me, three people silently walk past, a stone in the earth with an unknown untold story millions of years long, a leaf next to it with a story no longer than a year. |
AuthorField notes from Stuart Bowditch, an independent sound artist working on Constable Ambisonic. Archives
April 2026
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