Treelines: hazel
Sharing a series of love letters to trees from some unexpected authors.
A third contribution for a joint exhibition I’m taking part in, to be hosted throughout August in a museum setting here in Herefordshire at the county archive centre, HARC.
Exhibition concept for 'Treelines'
Two Herefordshire-based artists are collaborating to create a multimedia exhibition inspired by their mutual awe for trees.
'Treelines' will feature artwork by Helen Arthur and jewellery designs by Elizabeth Terzza.
We'll share a behind-the-scenes glimpse of our dual practices — writing, printmaking, painting, and jewellery design — in an exhibition that's one big love letter to trees.
'Treelines Love Letters'
As part of this venture, I wanted to do some writing as well as image-making.
A love letter to Hazel
Hazel, mon cher – je t’adore, belle noisette.
You were there for me from the very beginning. In the quiet comfort of your presence, I started life as a tiny, pink bundle, tucked deep within your embrace. My mum, with her nimble paws, quivering whiskers and keen senses, wove a nursery nest for us in a hole in one of your densest branches. She used some of your leaves and also stripped sweet-smelling honeysuckle bark that winds itself around you, growing in your shadow.
You, Hazel, were my first home, and remain my ever-present protector, shielding me and my siblings from nippy winds and the hungry eyes of owls.
You help me through the seasons, Hazel. I follow your lead.
Your spring catkins, those delicate yellow-green tassels, dangle like tiny treasures, fluffy with pollen. They come first, then your fruit appears – jewels, nestled in frilly husks. It makes my mouth water to watch them swell, starting off green before growing plump and brown as summer progresses and the nights begin to draw in.
When your leaves, once a vibrant green, begin their transformation to a mellow yellow, I know it’s time to build up my reserves and feast on your nuts which you share with so many of us woodland and hedgerow beasties. I mustn’t be greedy and feast too soon. So I nibble on insects and forage in the meantime. Biding my time until your bounty is ripe for the picking. There’s no greater delight than cracking open one of your nuts, with its rich, sweet-tasting kernel.
You, dear Hazel, are nature’s ultimate larder and I’m just one of many who depend on your bounty.
After all that overindulging it will be time to build my own nest, a cozy cocoon for my long slumber. The days shorten and the air grows crisp, as I prepare for a long sleep, knowing that you, my steadfast Hazel, will be waiting to welcome me back. And of course you provide the perfect materials. I will expertly shred your rich, papery bark to line my snug bivouac – a masterpiece of insulation, built for months of peaceful dreaming, curled in a perfect ball.
I can never recall much of winter, dear Hazel. It’s all a blur once I’ve entered a state of deep sleep, every heartbeat slowing, my body temperature dropping: my complete surrender is only made possible by your shelter. I know you will stand guard, your bare, winding branches reaching towards the sky, a silent sentinel against the elements.
With the onset of spring, I will stir, shaking off the last of winter’s chill, and the world will again become a vision of new growth accompanied by a symphony of birdsong.
Your fresh, soft leaves will unfurl, like lots of little paws ushering me back into the land of the living.
Right now, exploring every inch of your branches, I hurtle from one to another with effortless grace, my long agile tail perfect for balancing. You’re my playground, my high-rise apartment, and my refuge.
Ever yours, Muscardinus avellanarius, the dormouse
To find out more about Treelines please follow my social media accounts @helenarthurart on Instagram and Facebook. I recommend seeing the fabulous work by Treelines co-creator @elizabethterzza
The next instalment for Treelines here on Substack will feature another unexpected love letter to a new tree species.