Contrappunto

Preparation
Idaho is located in the Midwest of the United States, sandwiched between the states of Oregon and Wyoming. It was always an important historical place due to its location on the Oregon Trail, an east-west emigration route for pioneers, connecting the Missouri River with Oregon Valley. For most residents of the United States, Idaho is known for its rich variety and production capacity of potatoes. Scattered across the landscape, Idaho is home to natural hot springs that push their hot water into the cold rivers.

After being invited to present a project for Ming Studios in Boise, the capital of Idaho, I began researching the local environmental problems. I soon learned that Idaho is one of the states most severely affected by massive wildfires. Since 1988 - the year in which much of Yellowstone National Park in neighboring Wyoming went up in smoke - the area has seen an exponential growth in such disasters, due to climate change, severe drought, and a European parasite that destroyed much of the forests in the past 20 years.

Intrigued by this topic, I began researching the United States Forest Service (USFS) and how they maintain and manage forests. I found out that the forests found by Europeans at the time of the pioneers were not the original forests, but the result of attempts by many generations Native Americans to keep the forests up to standard and healthy. They did this by regularly lighting preventive fires. These forest fires had two purposes. Firstly, in this way they could rid the forest floor of waste and dead plants. And secondly, a fire ensures that parasites do not get a chance and the land is, as it were, sterilized, which makes the soil more fertile and crops grow better, something that benefits both livestock and humans.

The establishment of the USFS some 150 years ago ended the tradition of controlled wildfires. Since that time, of course, forest fires have been fought. After a century and a half of repressive policies toward wildfires, America's forests are full of huge amounts of debris and dead trees, so the wildfires that are there can reach enormous proportions. Currently, the USFS is working again with the original concept of preventive forest fires. Local governments are promoting controlled fire to the local population as the only way to prevent the large destructive wildfires.

My proposal for Ming Studios consisted of a photographic investigation of the impact that (spontaneous) forest fires have on local forests. In addition, I would create an installation in the gallery space using charred pieces of tree from burned forests.

Once in the U.S., I was quickly confronted with the extremely complicated bureaucracy that further degrades the already not-so-good condition of American forests. After meeting with the local authorities of the Boise National Forest, I decided to drive to a recently burned area. The Pioneer fire had raged for three months, from July to September 2016, in an area just 70 miles outside of Boise. It was one of the largest wildfires in Idaho history, had destroyed more than 760 square miles of forest, and had been extremely expensive to fight.

The project
Driving along the Idaho 21 route is an amazing experience. Just outside Boise, a volcanic landscape unfolds. The desolate landscape full of sagebrush in the south slowly gives way to mountains overgrown with giant Ponderosa trees. I drive past the town of Idaho, a former mining village that looks like it came straight out of a Sergio Leone movie. A few miles down the road there is a warning sign by the side of the road that says "Don't stop for the next 15 miles. The smell of smoke gradually intensifies and an apocalyptic landscape looms before my eyes. Everything around me is burned, huge trees over 30 feet tall stick out of the ground like charred sticks. The forest has been reduced to a slope of shades of black. The ground littered with ash. I stop to take pictures and I suddenly see the installation I want to make in front of me. Almost immediately a sheriff behind to remind me that it is not permitted to stop. I take the opportunity to ask about contacts I could use for my research, and I get directions to a location where firefighters stay during wildfire season.

I drive on through the burnt forest; it is beyond comprehension what such a violent fire can do. At the firefighters' camp - a few small tents in the middle of a valley - people are sleeping after 16 hours of continuous work. The people at the scene introduce me to Jennifer Myslivy of the Bureau of Land Management, the agency that can help me gain access to the closed forest area so I can do my photographic research. I get her phone number; a satellite phone that only works at the camp. There is no cellular reception in the forest.

A few days later, Jennifer and I have an appointment in the morning to take photos. At the camp in Green Valley, everyone is super friendly and willing to inform me about the current wildfires. They offer to take me to an active fire line. An important lesson they impart is how, in the event of an emergency, to use a fire shelter use. Together with two other firefighters we leave the camp in a jeep, with plenty of water in stock. It is still chilly in the morning now, but in not too long it will be very hot and then water will be an absolute necessity. We drive toward the enclosed area; the landscape has a dramatic beauty. My preference to visit this burnt forest in the morning stems from my expectation that the light will be soft then. I don't want my photographs to overemphasize the drama of the fire. I want those who look at my photographs to see the natural forces of this process, and something beautiful and pure. The light is soft and filtered through thick layers of smoke. In the morning, that smoke hangs very low because the cold air pushes it against the ground. Only in the afternoon does it rise, reoxygenating and reigniting the fire.

My next important appointment is with Chris Boldman, Fire Management Officer with USFS for the Idaho Ranger District. He appears genuinely interested in my project and eager to help. A few days later, he calls me with the news that the Idaho Ranger District has given me permission to enter the closed area for a day. A month of diplomacy is finally paying off! I have a permit to gather the materials for my installation.

Chris and I meet again and discuss the logistics of collecting charred trees. I don't even need to ask for assistance; Chris already has an idea: he has been working with the smokejumpers, the best qualified firefighters in the US. After I briefly present my idea I have six volunteers. We need a trailer, chainsaws and ropes and we only have that one day, so everything has to be planned perfectly. The smokejumpers work for me voluntarily on their day off, even their captain comes to help. They are great! Together we manage to collect over 30 charred trees. By the end of the day, when we bring the trees to Ming Studios, our faces and clothes are completely black. It was a hard day, but we had a lot of fun.

Now that the trees are on the grounds of Ming Studios, the rest of the work is completely in my hands. With the help of Travis and George, we begin dismantling, labeling and preparing each piece of each tree before rebuilding it inside. The trees are cleaned with a brush, details are burned with a torch they are sprayed with acrylic paint to protect the charcoal. When the pieces are ready we bring them inside.

The title of the installation, Contrappunto - Italian for counterpoint - refers to the musical term of the same name, in which two interdependent melodies, each with its own distinct rhythm, are played together harmoniously. I want the forest in the gallery space to be a composition of sculptural gestures that contrast with the space itself. The final installation consists of 25 charred trees that are given their place between two columns of Ming Studios, each tree with its own identity, but as part of the forest as a whole. The photographs are printed in black and white: one in large format and a selection is collected in the publication Contrappunto.

The opening
The trees stand in the middle of Ming Studios, like monuments, a totem of a forest that once was. They are badly damaged, but nevertheless give the impression of being alive, ready to burst out at any moment. At the opening it is unprecedentedly crowded; a group of art lovers mixes with firefighters, curious people, local artists and students. A rather unusual group of visitors for an exhibition. Many of them have personal experiences with forest fires and the charred trees seem to strike a sensitive chord; many are moved at the memory of the dramatic hours they spent fighting the fire.

Forest fires are a recurring theme in my art practice, one where new perspectives are always emerging. During my adventure in Boise, I came to realize that there is an unprecedented human mechanism that marshals vast amounts of energy for the sake of forest conservation. Forests are critical for the oxygen we breathe, for food supply and materials, and provide the opportunity for recreation in our leisure time. Forest fires are a fiery reminder of our dependence on nature. Fire is a powerful and natural element that can be used in a good way but can also be completely destructive.

I think so many people in Boise had been touched by Contrappunto because the installation employs a clear vocabulary with which it evokes a reminder of the complicated relationship with the forest and the fire that can threaten destruction or incite rebirth.

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