ARTISTS TALKING

# 31 [11 May 2008]

(16th September post 2007 continued)

I suspect that if I could talk with these men, in discussion there might be many, many things in our worldview that we disagree on. The joy though in a way of NOT being able to get caught up in these differences is that I see more clearly to they're 'being ness' and find that I really like them. They are warm, kind, genuine people - very at odds with the stereotypical hunter I have imagined in the past.

I stand and watch some red squirrels playing on the lawn, we are in the grounds of a wealthy estate. Guido guides me as to what I can and cannot film as the grounds belong to "a man who is not here" so out of respect for his privacy he instructs me when to film and when not.

There are beautiful flowerbeds, ornamental trees, and lots of rose hips fat and juicy and Guido and me discuss making jam.

Later that weekend I meet a girlfriend whose mother was German. I tell her about my trip and she says yes she has seen this in her family, a strange mixture of masculine and feminine attributes - very masculine men who weave or make quite feminine things and don't feel threatened by that.

I remember too hearing once that it is quite traditional and normal for men in Norway knit. I think after all perhaps these things seeming masculine and feminine to us is to do with being British? That there is a different way that 'gender' operates on an everyday relation between the sexes level, in a European context.

My friend says "it would be great to meet a female hunter and see how she does thing differently / the same" - I think briefly of Guido's mom - he told me that she used to hunt. I would so love to meet her, but I have worked so very hard just to get this far with him, building up trust, and I suspect I would be pushing the boundaries too far to ask to meet his mother too.

I reply back to my friend - "yes, well maybe that could be me?" as I remember that I have seen a course in game keeping in the UK that I could do, and I remember that for a while I used to work in forestry. In the early 90's I worked in the lake district as a conservation volunteer with the BTCV; through that I gained my advance chainsaw certificate and did all sorts of things I would never have imagined myself doing before…

And so the making of this work continues.

 

# 30 [11 May 2008]

(16th September post 2007 continued)

Bambi hovers some distance away, then moves on with no assistance from me whatsoever. I am both relieved and disappointed.

We sit for a while longer then leave. I can't believe that we have been there for perhaps 3 hours or so. We go for a coffee, meet some of his friends who have made two kills and Guido asks if I want to visit the refrigeration unit to see the catch. I say yes, suddenly guilty for my fleeting desire to spoil this mans hunt, who has been so open and generous in allowing me this access to what he does, when I am sure he has no real idea what I am doing and finds me a bit of an enigma - but still he says yes anyway. I have taken him a bottle of what I think is whisky for this trip, but he has asked for no payment. I think to myself that if I go out with him one more time I must get him a bigger bottle of better whisky, and I realise how much I want to develop some really excellent new work around this footage, how I would love to be able to then give a piece of this work back to him…

We go to a private house and in the refrigerator see 4 dead wild boars, hanging for the meat to tenderise. His friends turn up with one more wild boar and what looks like a deer, though I think it may not be (must try to identify what it is) because Guido doesn't call this one Bambi, he has another name for it, which he cannot translate.

His friends are jovial as they wash and hang the catch in the fridge. I find that I really like them, 4 men total. They shake hands with me and introduce themselves, we can talk little owing to my lack of German (I was so lucky with Guido to find perhaps the only hunter in the whole of east Berlin who speaks some English; I had been warned this would not be possible as the second language amongst most older east Germans is Russian and definitely not English owing to the history)…

They all shake hands with me and although I cannot talk with them, I am on the one hand pleasantly 'ignored' in the sense that they take no notice of my filming various parts of their activity. On the other hand I am included very often in their activity with a warm smile, a glance or a wink and I feel very grateful for the warmth and generosity that allows me to be here seeing this.
 

# 29 [11 May 2008]

(16th September post 2007 continued)

I try to imagine the opposite, believing today that we WILL shoot something, but this feels wrong too - strained - and I realise the trick is to learn to simply be with WHAT IS, and to rest in that present moment, with a gentle undercurrent closer to faith and trust than belief or hope.

We have sat in near silence for well over an hour (maybe two?), it is now light and I am really enjoying shooting the footage] - the details, the scenery, the changing light, flashes of Guido (though it is hard to film him, sat close next to each other, knees touching as we are).

It is impossible to film him from these close quarters, and yet if I were to get up and stand at the door, which would be the only place I could get enough distance to frame him, I would disturb his hunt. So I content myself with the little glimpses of him I can catch in my camera. I notice also not for the first time that he is a very beautiful man. Peculiarly German pale grey blue eyes, very masculine in his physical presence and way, but with a soft, even slightly feminine face and wavy mid brown soft hair - a kind of sexy angelic androgyny.

Through my camera I get lost again for a while in a 'cinematic' version of the reality that is unfolding around me. I realise this is so when Guido alerts me to the presence of a "Bambi" nearby and picks up his gun. I suddenly am aware just how unprepared I am for the actually of an animal killed before my eyes - for the reality of a dead Bambi - and as in my last trip with Guido, the part of me that was vegetarian for 15 years contemplates making an 'accidental' noise to alert Bambi to the danger…

I contain this response however; as I remember that I am here for a reason, I have chosen to confront this issue head on. The surface ripples say "stop it, don't let it happen" but the underlying current that runs deeper and much, much more strongly freezes me to the spot saying "no, watch this, you need to see this".

Not for the first time I see that whilst I can make lots of 'logical' explanations as to what brought me to this juncture - my oft repeated story of "15 years a vegetarian starts eating meat, who always said to herself I would never eat meat again unless I could kill the animal myself well here I am following that up, want also to explore things we are disconnecting from in the city through supermarkets and packaging" etc etc etc - I realise that this is all a front - that there is actually something else compelling me to be here, something that I have not quite grasped yet…
 

# 28 [11 May 2008]

(16th September 2007 post continued)

I curse myself then for not knowing my equipment better, for though it is light enough to see clearly outside through the hunting slits, inside it is still very dark. I imagine I must have something incorrectly set ("perhaps I have the manual light metre on and have it set too low...perhaps, perhaps"). This carries on for some time as my fears spiral out of control until I realise that I am panicking. "Ok, this is panic" - I name it.

So I slow my breathing and think - and remember that I have my small stills camera with me. I open this (more impossibly loud Velcro noises…) and turn it on (even the mechanism, it is so loud!) and - once again the screen is blank as if there were a lens cap on (only this camera has no lens cap to forget). They can’t both be broken. I look out and realise that actually it is still much darker than I think, but that my eyes have grown accustomed to the dim light. The way I am blinded by even just the blank LED screens on my cameras confirms this hypothesis, so I turn all equipment off and relax.

Half an hour or so after my panic I see that it probably really IS light enough now to film and turning my camera on confirms this. Again as I am filming I do as much looking within as 'without'. I enjoy the framing, the seeking out of details with my lens - the shape of the gun, the camouflage flapping in the wind, the shapes in between the trees.

I notice within me a lack of 'belief' saying already "I don't think we will catch anything today". I think once of again of what I have learnt - that Guido hunts several times a week all year, making only a few catches in the year. I think of the confidence needed with those odds to get up and out by 4am after a long shift in his restaurant, knowing he has another to do the next day too.

Not for the first time I think that there is many parallels between this, and the kind of love and faith I see in artists undertaking their practice. This returns me to my own current lack of faith - in both the hunt today and often in my own practice - I notice the thoughts whispering in the silence "we won't catch anything today, there is nothing in sight, not a whisper of an animal, I have scared them all off with my noise" etc etc. I think that perhaps I have come all of this way simply to confront something lurking deep within myself, something that is not helping me in my work.

# 27 [16 September 2007]

Guido hunts wild boar 2

Sat 16th September, 2007, 4am.

I have much to complete before I leave here, especially regarding my folio and it's presentation to curators. I went out hunting the other day with Guido, when I got back I wrote down as much as I could remember about the experience. This is it below, uneditied - it may be some time before I can polish the writing but for now I wanted to share with you about the trip, and maybe anyway the 'rawness' of the writing is more appropriate to the experience.

Cathryn.

I leave at 3am, taking a taxi to Oranienbourg, getting there at 3.45am. The taxi driver is kind; he gets lost, tells me so, and turns his metre off so as not to over charge me. When I tell him that the man I am supposed to meet is due at 4am, he offers to sit there for 15minutes so that I can wait inside his cab. I decline and give him a tip, for giving me such a good start to a journey that I am a little nervous, but excited about.

Guido arrives, I do not recognise him at first, he has a different vehicle to last time, a white van - I briefly remember that when I lived in a very rural part of the lake district, some of the forestry workers I knew seemed to have a different patched up vehicle each week, and briefly wondered if it is the same here. He is also wearing a boyish baseball cap, unlike the traditional looking green, (felt?) wide brimmed 'Stetson' style had he had on before (must find the proper name for this hat).

We drive off in a tired and comfortable intimacy, journeying in the dark, that reminds me of the days when I used to hitchhike a lot - with radio lights playing, both driver and passenger, though strangers, content to sit close and quiet, aware of each others physical presence yet saying nothing. After a petrol stop we arrive after about 25 minutes at a woodland edge - Guido pauses and instructs me "Now we are at the hunting grounds, no noise, no slam doors - OK!" "Yes" I say as I remember with a cringe how I slammed the door chatting away on our last trip.

We drive along a very bumpy track, a tunnel of dim lights on the trees ahead (is he driving only on side lights?) - it is windy and the trees do that thing where the branches across our path look like thousands of hands straining to grab us as they thwack on the window screen. Not for the first time (it is our culture to do this) I am reminded of films - The Blair Witch Project; something too about zombies, and murders in the woods - was it the chainsaw massacre? The images recede as I think to myself "must stay present and alert, notice things, look, study, watch…"

We stop, I hear but cannot see him getting out, I await a torchlight flashing on. When one does not come I get out too - is it really this dark? I cannot see anything - NOTHING - when is he going to switch the torch on? "Psst, Cathryn" I hear in the distance, I belatedly understand that there is going to be no torch, I briefly wonder if I am up to this, if I haven't just made a terrible, terrible mistake. I move forward, luckily Guido is wearing white trousers (pale jeans) and fleetingly every now and then I see a ghost like shadow, a white spectre, fleeting and low to the ground. This is all I have; this is all I can see - I think later that Guido's sight is quite simply different to mine. I wonder how this happens - are our eyes like a muscle? Do they improve through use? Deteriorate through lack of use…?

I move onwards following these brief white vaporous apparitions, each is only a glimpse seconds apart and I wonder if I am following the shadows of my imagination? Am I simply wandering off into the woods in the wrong direction? Am I about to fall into a ditch? Why can I not hear Guido? He is so quiet. Eventually my eyes begin to adjust and I can just about see that he is still ahead. I look inside myself and see that I am not scared - I think to myself "I should probably feel more fear than this" but I do not. I feel only trust and the desire to keep following the path that I have set myself.

We come out into the open and ahead I see our destination - a hut on stilts near a tree. I follow Guido up a narrow near vertical wooden ladder into the 'tree-house' affair. Once again I notice all thoughts of falling of the ladder - which I can hardly see and have to find each step through feeling with my feet - that in other circumstances I am sure I would have, are suspended as I move quietly ahead. We climb in and sit. Silent.

I will notice later on that we are on a garden style bench, for now I only notice that it has a cushion on and it is quite comfy as I sit down - cosy even. As the light grows I will notice the soft dappled green carpet, quite practically used on the walls to stop the wind blowing through (and green so it doesn't stand out) however it's impression is somewhat decorative, domestic, feminine. Along too with some beautifully woven 'spade' like shapes pinned to the ceiling - Guido tells me later that these are made by a hunter when they go to hunting school, they are made from 4 kinds of tree, and it is a tradition on their first kill, that it is pinned in the hut.

We sit for some time in silence awaiting the dawn (Guido says once "it is too dark") - quiet that is until I decide to take my camera out. Why oh why did I not remember this from last time! I should have had it out ready! I should have NO bag with me and only the camera! I curse myself as Velcro RIPS and plastic bags and zips do the sounds that they do…

"What is that?" he asks
"My camera, I am getting it out - is it too noisy?"
"Better that you do it now than later" comes the reply of an adult being patient with an impossible child.

He had told me in the car that he only had 2 hours sleep that night as he was working late in his restaurant. Additionally, later today starting 10.30am working till maybe midnight, he has a party of 110 wedding guests to cater for, including all 3 meals that they need throughout the day (not just the evening meal).

He falls asleep.

He looks so lovely, so peaceful, like a child, that I could hug him.

It grows light slowly; I sit looking inwards as much as outwards. I feel supremely at peace, it is so beautiful doing this, this sitting, watching, waiting - the light seeping in through the night-time sky. I wonder to myself - how would it feel if we weren't here hunting? If we were just doing this, sitting and watching? I realise as I did on the last hunt with a shock that I enjoy the frisson, that it wouldn't be the same if I were just there watching with no purpose in mind. These feeling once again shock me. I am surprised to find myself, theoretically at least (as we have not shot anything yet) enjoying the hunt.

It looks light enough to use my camera, I try but my screen is blank (Guido is still sleeping peacefully). I start to panic about things, silly things. There is nothing on the screen of my camera yet I can now clearly see the landscape in front of me. I check half a dozen times or so to make sure I have taken the lens cap off, yes there is no lens cap (though there might be a dozen sticky finger prints now on my lens where I have mauled it in the place where I was convinced that the lens cap was…). I start to panic about more silly things. I imagine having come all of this way and having to go home without any footage. I imagine the embarrassment of having to say to Guido "I think my camera's broken", I wonder is there a way I can make this a successful trip and NOT take any footage? Then I think "NO" I am here for a reason.

I curse myself then for not knowing my equipment better, for

# 26 [30 August 2007]

an event

Last night I was invited to speak at the "Culture Cafe" - an event established by local photographer Michael Harms. This is a series of artist talks accompanied by a meal, attended by people mostly local to the Stadthaus Museum.

Michael asked me to suggest a meal and a theme. In keeping with my recent work, I enquired with the Chef Hans about food that used to be regularly eaten in Berlin, but that isn't now often served. Initially he suggested a tripe dish and schnitzel made from cows udder; however due to health and safety restrictions it was not possible to serve this (apparently a link with BSE) and the raw ingredients in any case were difficult to locate...

He was able to come up with another dish "Panitertes Berliner Schnitzel" and a pudding "Arme Ritter" mit Vanillesauce. The pudding translates as "Poor Knight" and is a delicious eggy bread dipped in vanilla sauce that used to be a "poor mans pudding". It transpired also that he used to cook for the British Army and was very knowledgeable about British food (from the late 1970's I think though his age is hard to guess!) as a result Steak and Kidney Pie was added to the menu!

During the evening I showed images and spoke about projects where I have uncovered 'forgotten archives' of material - I also showed some of my video work where I attempt to pluck and cook a duck, and recent drawings illustrating a previous hunting trip in Northumbria.

I was worried how the audience would react to the work, being somewhat 'elderly' and the work being perhaps (I thought) in their eyes a little too 'contemporary'. However, in the discussions that followed I was very heartened by their engagement with the work and really enjoyed the evening.

In particular, one lady said that all of the things I was talking about (unravelling knitwear; plucking birds and skinning animals) are things that she would regularly do when younger. About my video piece "Ducky" she said, "I imagined you were my daughter and as I watched it I wanted to teach you, to say here, this is how you do it, let me show you".

I had considered attending some game preparation classes in Shropshire when I return to the UK; this process though of 'learning from an elder' could be an interesting development of the work to be remembered and followed up in London (as I am rapidly running out of time here).

Another Gentleman told me he was born in 1927 - he said that as I showed 'museum objects' and looked at the dates on them (in particular a 1930's visitors book that I uncovered during a museum residency) he thought "Oh yes, I was 10 then and I was doing..."

Another younger lady (his daughter) told me a really beautiful story about buying a spinning wheel off e-bay, buying raw wool off a farmer and how she then attempted to learn through books, blood, tears and intuition to clean the grease from the wool and spin it!

I am not sure how long this process took her but by the end, she had a lovely (if slightly itchy and stiff!) pair of gloves from wool she had cleaned, spun and crocheted herself - and that the remaining grease was very effective at keeping the hands dry when making snowballs.

The staff at the Stadthaus made a really colourful table display, I have learnt whilst here that several of the staff who assist with these events are on '1 euro' jobs (a initiative relating to unemployment) and the homely touches provided are by their initiative sometimes borrowed from home. I learnt later in the evening that the Chef Hans no longer worked at the museum, but had returned especially just to cook the meal. Jochen Ulander provided translation services and there was also great technical support (thanks Uwe).

# 25 [27 August 2007]

New toys

Much of my residency has been unexpectedly spent exploring online resources new to me. Up till now I have only ever had dial up connection whereas here I have super high speed broadband; it has been a bit like gorging myself till sick and some more in a sweet shop at night...

but I think I am balancing out to a more healthy diet now.

One of the things that has interested me is the numerous possibilities for online publishing, selling, visibility, online sharing of images - I have been wading through these deciding what I like and don't like.

One result of this has been a proliferation of test blog sites as I play around with E-blogger, only now I have found that wordpress is better...

And so I will be moving everything across (hopefully by the end of this residency!) into one super site through wordpress, which will be the "cathrynjiggens.com" that currently doesn't lead anywhere...

For now though here is another blog that I have done, a continuation of the dream diary I started earlier on this a-n site:

I had brought with me a quantitiy of material (old diaries) which I had been meaning to do something with for some time and a good friend in Newcastle is currently wading through a massive box of the rest, extracting my dream diaries.

For now though here is what I have put up so far...

http://theroomisspaciousandbright.blogspot.com/

As an ongoing project I think I would like to begin to add images to these texts.

I am considering how these sites are in effect for me a surrogate 'studio' space, a digital studio:

So just as getting old pictures, photos, material or whatever and sticking them up on the wall in a physical studio space helps motivate our creativity; I am finding in these sites a way to gather together (and release the 'energy' of) material that currently languishes unused in boxes under the bed. 

Here are some other sites that I like and am currently experimenting with or have bookmarked for future reference:

http://www.lulu.com/

online publishing

http://www.etsy.com/

a place to buy and sell things handmade.

# 24 [26 August 2007]

And the next thing

I am now finishing a German style folio to be presented in the coming weekes to galleries and individuals I have identified during my stay here. The creation of this folio has been a new thing for me and I have found it a very useful and rewarding exercise - I will describe it in more detail in the next few days.

The input I have had from the German based curator who is mentoring me here in Berlin - concerning the packaging and presentation of my work and the differences between the Berlin and Newcastle arts scenes - has been been one of the most valuable aspects of this residency; I will try to pass on some of the key points I am learning (esp. re the differences in presentation) for any artists planning to arrive with their work to Berlin...

# 23 [26 August 2007]

Some Practicalities

On residencies: after a whirlwind tour I am now back and fully focused on my residency again. I have had a break, in part due to the need to attend to a family health related crisis - life is like that sometimes, tripping you up with unexpected bad bad news. In part though I have taken a break from my work here in order to focus on where I am going next...

Previously on projects I have managed to turn what looks like a good fee at the outset into a gaping debt by the end. I have usually 'achieved' this by failing to temper enthusiasm with some down to earth common sense thinking - that ensures ALL expenses incurred through a project are accounted for when laying out a budget plan.

I was a high achiever during my BA and MFA studies (as measured by grades), largely as a result of unrelenting and diligent hard work stretching into many long evenings and weekends, sustained consistently over a 6-year period. Naturally I continued this kind of 'work ethic' after graduation (and to be fair it is the kind of work ethic that nearly every artist I know subscribes too, and is not 'exceptional' in that sense).

Last year I had felt that my engines of creation had ground to a halt. With the breathing space and distance allowed by coming to Berlin, I can reflect that this slowdown came about through a failure on my part to provide a basic level of financial stability for myself. And that this happened through a "work really hard on this project and it will pay off financially later" type mentality.

(...actually, as I look at what I have written above, I realise I have been playing with my financial future as if I were "gambling" in a really bad game of poker!).

One area where this is acutely felt in residences is the associated costs created at the beginning and end of a project that need to be accounted for when laying out a spending plan. So for instance, to undertake this project in Berlin, I forfeited my lovely comfortable lodgings in Newcastle, and so had to 'move house' into temporary storage (my studio!). This of course took up time which could be spent working (and earning), as well as resources for van hire, assistance etc.

And as I approach the end of my project I now have a new set of costs to account for - a deposit and one months rent up front on a new place, removal costs (once again...!) and the cost of living in a B&B for a while until I find somewhere to live - after all I want to take the time to find a 'home' rather than having to leap at the first thing that comes up...

All of which is a part of the financial cost to me of undertaking this project.

I was determined at the outset not repeat past mistakes, as I have realised that my former modus operandi was making my practice unstable and unsustainable in the long term. So I have also taken a break from my work here to do research and make heaps of applications, ensuring this residency runs straight into the 'next thing' with as short a gap as is possible.

I would never have made such allowances before and have often emerged after an intense completion of project / exhibition / do project report and final budget to hand to funders phase (which ALWAYS takes longer and costs more than expected!) only to find that I am completely broke and exhausted - which is never a good space to be in when looking for the next thing.

The good news is that as an artist developing my practice, I have probably made absolutely every mistake in the book (and created some new chapters of my own!). For instance it took me ages to visit the a-n fees calculator and it was a shock to see in "bare faced can't lie to myself anymore figures" the disparity between the rates I was charging, and what my expenses as an artist ACTUALLY are.

Ever optimistic - that I have made all of these mistakes is actually good news as when I finally 'get it right' I will really know how I did it, and will really know the consequences of doing things otherwise, and so can make an informed choice about not doing the same again.

My applications frenzy has (still despite all I have said above about residencies...) included residencies, freelance projects with communities and further study (MPhil) etc. The one I have chosen to go ahead with is a part time salaried post (with a-n) in London.

I feel happy with this choice in more ways than one: I have for some time now wanted to 'give London a go': despite warnings from refugees of the London arts scene I have met here in Berlin about high costs of living!

I also have a good circle of friends in London, and my move coincides with several of my peers from around the country relocating there - I am looking forward to possible reacquaintences and associated new doorways opening.

And part of my new job (to commence in October) happily involves visiting the Newcastle office once a month, enabling me to maintain connections in the region where I have lived and practiced for the last 6 years.

And finally in London I am only a cheap flight away from Berlin and I would really like to expand further my blog of Berlin galleries...

http://englishspeakingartistsinberlin.blogspot.com/

...as well as cultivating connections that arise from the final stages of my residency (see my next post...).

I am looking forward to a phase of developing my practice with the backup of a good salary, so that I don't 'need' to take freelance work for a while and can exercise more choice over what I do - and more importantly - do not do.

I also think about Guido, the East German hunter I have been accompanying (see other posts!) and what I might be learning from him. He hunts several times a week, making only a few catches per year, spending much of his time simply watching and waiting.

Watching and waiting with him I have considered that part of the problem of my former strategies has been that they have lacked any long term thinking - instead working on intense short burst projects and quickly moving on to the next thing, with too much effort and energy focused on "the kill" and not enough time to simply 'be' and enjoy the journey. I like to think that I might be entering a new phase of development with a rhythm similar to that of Guido's when he is hunting.

I wonder how different my work may look by doing this? How much has it been inadvertently shaped by the circumstances I have created for my work - as vivdly as if I had chosen to work with wax instead of bronze?

All of the above might sound like a whinge about residencies and a project that I know several of my peers in the NE would have given their eye / teeth to do. And I acknowledge that it is a short term residency that has allowed me this time to reflect in more depth on my long term future. Am I being 'ungrateful' by publicly reflecting on these things, on the downsides of a good opportunity? I don't think so - these are the realities of being an artist and they need to be talked about.

(Images shown developed from video footage supported by Allenheads Contemporary Arts Centre April 2007 http://www.acart.org.uk)

# 22 [17 July 2007]

Guido hunts wild boar and deer:

Continuing with my work as it was developing in the UK (i.e. the preparation of fresh game in the kitchen) has been a slow journey with many dead ends, in part due to my limited grasp of German. The difficulty of tracing food chains back to their source though in itself has reflected something of what inspired the work in the first place: a sense that we have very much disconnected from the actual origins of the things that we eat - especially meat - and replaced this with a marketing image of happy cows in green fields.

Finally though, last Thurs I went to meet Guido, a hunter, butcher and chef working out east of Berlin. He arranged to meet me at the last stop on the line out NE out of the City - I thought we were just meeting to introduce ourselves and so was in my 'city civvies'.

It turned out that he was going hunting that night so I went along, in my practical nylon flares and PVC coat. Luckily I had brought my camera. And we sat watching a darkening field from a hide in a tree for four hours - saw some deer mating, a fox and a rabbit - nothing came close enough to shoot (though I was fairly eaten alive by mosquitoes...).

Despite me turning up looking like I might be going to a restaurant or the theatre, he has agreed to take me out again. Hopefully I will be able to go out until he gets a kill (he shoots deer or wild boar about 4 or 5 times a year though he is out several times a week after completing his days work in restaurant or butchers shop). I find the process that he engages in - long periods, week after week spent sitting, watching, waiting - quite fascinating and wonder how I might capture this quality in video (or some other way perhaps?).

As I said before in this blog, I was previously a committed vegetarian for 15 years and this work really is a head on confrontation with my choice to once again eat meat - to bring consciousness to this decision - and I have yet to see where this process will lead me. I was grateful though to my guide Guido, and thankful that as we whispered in the hide, he revealed a sense of both knowledge, love and respect for the environment within which he works.

He learnt his trade from his mother who also used to hunt.

There seems so much potential in this chance meeting (on one of the many (unsuccessful) occasions when I enquired in restaurants in Berlin that served game as to whether they could put me in touch with their supplier, Guido happened to telephone the chef I was speaking to in the middle of our conversation so he passed the phone to me...)

I will post some images soon.