This is part of a series of blogs featuring inspiring artists and craft people who work with local natural materials.

Exploring the mundane and the sacred through Ancestral crafting

The cave was tight. There was room for only one of us to go in at a time and myself and Nina, a petite French circus performer, had paired up to make the long, dark and cramped journey deep into the earth. The fat from the lamp burned along our willow herb seed wick and lit up the space around us. As we reached the end of the canal, my hand reached out, feeling around the walls ahead until the familiar slick feeling met my palms. Clay. I plunged my hand in and pulled out a fist-sized clump, then another, dreaming of the bowl ready to be birthed. Nina’s turn. She shimmied her body around mine, and we awkwardly swapped the fat lamp between us. She reached ahead, her hands just out of reach of the clay clad wall. I felt her body poise for a leap in the darkness to reach that extra inch, and in one swift movement, she leap. And the light went out. And we lay in the darkness, howling with laughter.

Experiences like this colour my creative practice. The story of travelling to source and the relationships that are formed therein, both with the human and the more-than-human world.

This clay, dug from deep in the belly of the Vézère valley in France, close to the prehistoric settlements of Font de Gaume and Lascaux, was shaped into a bowl by my hands. The bowl was dried among wild foods and meats in the meadow beneath a warming May sun. It then met fire and wood and was transformed into something which would accompany me on trips for many years to come. Holding wild Chaga teas and sparkling Meadowsweet brews. Within that bowl, lies many memories; from earth to fire, to water and hands. In this way, the process of conversing with the land through the elements nourishes me, and continues to nourish me many times over. Creativity for me, is a conversation with the wild within and without and a building of inter-species community.

Upon arriving at a new place in County Meath, Ireland, 5 months ago, my body is immediately drawn to be outside and ‘meet the neighbours’. What relationships can I tend to in this place and what do they have to teach me? How can I come to fully embody this landscape by allowing myself to be shaped by it?

There is an abundance of Gabhrán / Clematis here. Their vines drip down the trees and provide the most amazing wood-scapes to immerse myself in. Meeting Gabhrán, I am invited into an entirely new relationship. Getting to know which vines bend at will, which will break and how, which will shed bark to reveal textured green beneath, and which will hold on tight to their papery skin. What is best for spoon, basket, fishing pot, fire-lighting… it is a slow burn, like any good relationship, trusting one another takes time and attention.

My explorations lie at an intersection between that which is practical in the here and now; a basket for gathering nettles, a tanned deer skin for clothing, cord for making fishing line, wood for making spoons; and a wondering of how my ancestors might have responded to these materials. When I crush a rock, or bend a vine, I wonder how ancient the embodiment of these actions are. Sometimes, I feel it in my bones; that deep familiarity. The first time I really felt this I was gathering moss in Northern Sweden to thatch a shelter. My ancestors of bog and moss were with me, showing me exactly where to get the thickest, moistest clumps. Something of my own essence lives in bog, in exploring the depths I come to know myself as bog-like.

Not only does the relationship with the land lie in the material, but also in the interaction with all that surrounds us. As I sit and silently weave beneath the spruce, I hear the herons call above me, and I come to know their family more, their many different voices and movements. As I twine to myself with nettles, I catch a glimpse of deer and I feel the perception of separation between us slip away. I feel myself become embedded in the land as I co-create with them, the edges between us begin to blur and I begin to wonder if I am weaving the basket or if the basket is weaving me. In this way, the mundane becomes sacred.

Apprenticing myself to wild materials and beings and to my own creativity is a difficult thing to do at times. I feel the moments of frustration, my inner critic having their way with me, and the capitalist drive to succeed, produce and repeat can wreak havoc at times. For me, this is when ceremony becomes so important in my interactions with the land. It reminds me that the relationship is based on reciprocity, and that in relating with place, we can ceremoniously co-create with the land, rooting ourselves to place. This can be as simple as saying thank you or, in some cases, of gifting these creations back to the land, renewing our relationship as I let go of the need to be externally validated for my artistic expression. These are the silent, intimate moments so seldom seen and so tenderly appreciated.

Through these creatively curious pilgrimages in the wild, I actively and playfully belong myself to the land; creating conversations between my inner and outer landscapes. Nature acts as mirror and creations from this act as offerings. Through this creative process emerges the gifts of remembering, rewilding, reclaiming and re-storying.

Lucy O’Hagan (She/They) is the founder and director of Wild Awake. She teaches classes and guides multi-day immersions, aiming to rekindle cultural and ecological resilience through the (re)learning of ancestral skills and life ways in Ireland. You can find more about Lucy through their website wildawake.ie and instagram @wildawakeireland.

Photo of clay pots was taken by Tomas Schaefer