Re-Crystallization Of Bygone Landscapes

Redefining The Unique & Silent Wonders Of The Earth

Words & Photography by Molly TucKer

I consider myself to be working in collaboration with the Earth. As a result, there is this visceral interaction and silent conversation between us. I consider myself a part of the Earth versus being apart from it. That consideration stems from utilizing the geologic and the natural as a means of producing work. I feel as though I am able to give a voice to the silent minerals that lay at our feet. A great deal of emotion swells up in my chest as I integrate myself within the landscape. Sometimes it becomes rather difficult to spit those emotions back into the world as recognizable and comprehensible words. The natural world offers me a clearer sense of who I am, what I am a part of, why I am a part of it and how I can be a part of it. The simplest of gestures can describe what words truly cannot. When I am collaborating with the Earth, we give offerings to one another; I give her a voice and she gives me the gift of breathing in union with her vibrations.

The exploration of the geologic isn’t confined to the most barren or rockiest parts of the world. In fact, the geologic is under, above and all around us. We are constantly weaving ourselves into a 4.5 billion year old interdependent unbreakable relationship between geologic and organic life. Even if you, the one reading this, are not consciously aware of it, you and the geologic have been walking together hand-in-hand since your first breath.

Understanding our interconnectedness with the Earth is a driving force in my artistic practice and personal life. The separation of self from the rest of nature acknowledges that the human is above, which is a false position we hold as a species. The seed from which my own comprehension of being a part of the Earth grew from encounters in the environment(s) I dwell in. Growing up at the foothills of the Adirondack Park in Saratoga Springs, NY had a tremendous impact on my artistic practice and I often revisit the experiences I’ve had in the Adirondacks. Specifically, a moment that transpired on a trail up Big Slide Mountain repeats in my mind. The Brothers are a pair of smaller mountains hiked over before reaching the summit of Big Slide. I experienced a rebirth of sorts on The Brothers; a moment of silence washed over me where I found myself completely interwoven with the space around me. That was when I crumbled to the ground, overtaken by this conscious meshing of my human experience with the environment. The force of my body collapsing and colliding with the bedrock below me was when my infatuation with the geologic was born.

The ground became more than the ground to me; it became a being that silently revealed the story of life. The bedrock beneath me supported my body reinforcing how critical the geologic was in the creation of the world we know now. There was this ancient atmosphere that was revealed to me through the crystalline structure of what my body was splayed on. The geology of the Adirondacks is unique as they are composed of Anorthosite; a plagioclase feldspar that is commonly found deep under the Earth’s surface due to the process at which it is formed. Classified as an intrusive igneous rock, it is formed when magma cools slowly beneath the Earth’s surface thus producing large crystal structures apparent to the naked eye. It might seem to be an anomaly that Anorthosite can be seen by the naked eye in the Adirondacks but, with the last ice age, the sediment that had settled above this Anorthosite was carved away by the retreating continental glacier and by alpine glaciers. The Adirondack Park is an uplifted dome that is still slowly inching upwards to this day. The dome itself might be newer but the Anorthosite itself is around 1 billion years old. A small piece of Anorthosite from that significant hike up Big Slide was the first and the oldest specimen of my ever-expanding geological collection gathered.

When asked what foraging meant to me, a lot circulated through my mind and hands, including that piece of Anorthosite. Foraging is the act of searching an area for sustenance; rockhounding is my foraging. Certain geological specimens will catch my eye as I explore my immediate environment and through their silent attraction, individual specimens are contributing to the story I’ve been collecting over the years. Beautiful creation stories filled with pressures and heat at untouchable depths left to cool and solidify. These moments create the minerals we treasure and pursue in society today. Without the mineral kingdom, life wouldn’t be the way it is today; with all of our technological and industrial advances into the capitalist rapid consumer world we live in. I am truly captivated by stone; by the solidity of history and the ancient timeline, I stand looking at the mineral world beneath my feet or towering overhead. Knowing that I contribute and am a part of what will be the Anthropocene epoch, along with the new Period or even Era we are entering in the greater geological time scale, the feeling is all the same.

My artistic practice utilizes the act of rockhounding in my immediate environment and the central idea that I am collaborating with the Earth. This collaboration reinforces the ecocentric notion of being a part of a whole versus separate from it. Time, temperature, light and exposure to the elements all affect my photography work, producing unique chemical and geological transformations of the emulsion layers on enlarging photographic papers. For this particular series, Re-crystallization of Bygone Landscapes, I examined the tailing mounds of Mt. Apatite in Auburn, Maine. The tailing mounds revealed some rather beautiful minerals like Apatite, Muscovite Mica, Albite, Garnets and Maine’s state gemstone Tourmaline (red &/or black at this site). I often find myself drifting towards places like this one in search of geological specimens; examining their textures that seem to unfold time within the palm of my hand.

Time, light and mineralogy all play their part in my beloved medium of photography. The Lumen printing process has become a critical component of my image-making. My photograms examine the forms of discarded geological specimens; the images are singular creations of mineral examination and varying exposure under sunlight in the landscape that can not be replicated. The abstract quality of my photographs becomes a shifting microscopic view of geologic forms and the macroscopic effect of the transformations to the surface and atmosphere of the Earth. The mineral impressions expose a moment of transformation which then slowly fades with time. Fixed or unfixed in a chemical bath of sodium thiosulfate, the images will change, some much slower than others, but that just shows the prolonged effects of climate change and the geological transformations our planet is undergoing. Alluring like sugar on a silver spoon, my work invites the viewer in to reveal it’s not at all sugar. In fact, the silver spoon is full of an unsatisfying taste of salt; the overwhelming realization that the Earth is concealing its transformation from the naked eye.

What advice would you give young artists who want to start to connect with their environments? Go outside and just be in the environment you are trying to connect with. The more time you spend there, the more you will understand what you have to offer to that site and what that site has to teach you. Connecting with the environment can be difficult with the distraction of other people, the internet and modern society encroaching on natural spaces. Within my artistic and personal practices, I find myself meditating to center my energy on the space I am conversing with. And most importantly collect. Collect, cultivate, and observe. Forage only for what is necessary, what speaks to you, don’t be greedy in your foraging habits. As you begin to collect specimens from the natural world, you begin to cultivate a deeper understanding of the space and how you are connected to it. You begin to realize what you are studying and engaging with the most in a space. For some, it could be mushrooms, others branches of a variety of wood, by the sea, shells; for me personally, it is rock and mineral specimen.

On connecting with your everyday environment: Connecting with our everyday environment means we are existing within it as a part of it rather than separated from it. It is important to be conscious of the environment you surround yourself, both natural and state of mind. You can then allow your subconscious linger and explore that which becomes inherently significant in your environment. For me, it was establishing that I exist within the Northeastern corner of the United States. The ecosystems of New England and New York have influenced my conscious existence and evolution in my everyday interactions within these spaces. What came out of my subconscious was the infinite love and deep relationship I had formed with the geologic. Being in the Burren of County Clare Ireland regenerated a passion to explore and embrace this subconscious relationship I had formed over the years. Since then, I have been engaging with the environment I dwell in at much more deeply rooted and investigative nature. Connecting with our environment begins with stepping out with a mind embracing possibility, a heart open to love and lungs for a breath of fresh air.

THEEARTISSUE