The Axe Forgets but the Tree Remembers

Inspired by my continued research into the history and lasting impact of the Scottish Witch Trials during the 17th Century, the piece is an attempt at creating a marker of recognition for this, until recently, mostly un-remembered period of history. By pulling together threads from the past and present, it aims to show how the effects of the witch trials still echo out today in terms of misogyny and ageism towards women.

Using the landscape as a starting point, the artist photographed potential sites of significance from this period in the Scottish Borders, the area where she grew up and still lives today. The words are my own, but they are inspired by the commonality I saw between women’s experiences today and those from the 17th century.

This piece invites the viewer to step into the landscape and narratives of the time and think less about the modern caricatural and sanitised depiction of the witch and more about the reality of the persecution women faced during this time, and how the accusations and suspicions wielded against them are still in place today.

THE TREE REMEMBERS

As the first blast of the trumpet rang out, during a time before the memory of any of us, the lose-lose of it all was set in motion and now you only require me to exist when I am of use.

As my age catches up with me, slow enough for you not to see but fast enough that I can feel, I am soon to be a part of the all and sundry who is not worth a name in your eyes.

To you, my lack of child and man means I am uncontrollable, and my leaky body is a sign of weakness, but we all know that it’s the strength of them both that makes you fear me still.

As we were all made to forget the scars of the fire and the ropes and the pins, I go now with my years in tow, to lose myself in a landscape I have learned to know again and I have to ask, does this earth remember you?

As you walked her (until she came to her senses), so too will I walk (until I come to mine).

For I will float, and I will keep on floating because I am singing the

long song of all of us and it will not end me nor will it end with me. 

And to those before me and before me and before me still, whose names were not lucky, know that we were eventually allowed to know you again.

Because in spite of it all, just like the axe, you all might forget but

I promise you, just like the tree, I will remember.