Hello! I live around the corner. I visit the Cemetery several times a week. I watch the trees change through the seasons. I seek the oldest gravestones; I wonder about the people who rest here. I come here with small groups to explore the nature. I listen to the birdsong. I try, and usually fail, to identify the mushrooms. I come here to escape when the cabin fever hits. I bring my children here: we play hide and seek, tell stories, make up songs, climb trees. I come here to escape the family. I go home with pockets full of fallen cones, leaves, seedpods.
I arrange cones and leaves and sticks into ‘nature doodles’.
Sometimes I draw, I write.
I dream that eventually I’ll make a book about this place that holds such magic for me and means so much to so many people, each in different ways.
And, I wonder about you – about all the other people who come here. Those who I see, and greet, others who pass through or pause here at completely different times. So, every day for the month of February, as a pledge to myself for ‘Fun-a-Day’, I am placing a question under a tree. If it catches your eye; if it has some kind of resonance for you or it captures your imagination, perhaps you’ll leave an answer. I hope you’ll leave an answer.
Perhaps you’ll leave your name, too. Perhaps it will surface in that book that I dream about. Perhaps not.
To be honest, I’m a little bit terrified! I’m afraid of all the things that might happen – I might upset people with insensitive questions in a space where they go for deep and personal moments. Perhaps I’ll get in trouble for ‘littering’ the Cemetery, though I’ll be back to collect everything I leave here. I’m worried that no-one will see my notes – or worse, that people will see them and no-one will reply, which feels quite likely. But, as I so often find myself saying, if I don’t try, then I’ll keep wondering. Perhaps, just perhaps, someone will enjoy the playful connection with a place that we love. Perhaps just perhaps, they’ll notice something they haven’t seen before. Perhaps it will make someone smile. Even, perhaps, someone will reach out to me and new adventures will begin, initiated by a mere question..
If I don’t try, I’ll never know
Whatever happens, I’ll be sharing my adventures alongside many others in a community exhibition at Positive Light Projects, Sidwell Street, Exeter, on 21 and 22 March 2026 – come see!
One Saturday a few weeks back, I walked from the centre of Chichester to West Wittering Beach, along a canal tow path and the Salterns Way. Alone and in control of my own pace, I found myself documenting my journey as I walked, through voice recordings and ‘Doodles’ that evolved as the day unfolded.
This is a narrative – primarily a transcription – of that very special day.
Flint
Flint. So many different patterns and ways of working with flint. In neat rows. In mortar. In old walls and new walls. Gaps plugged with tiny shreds and shards. I wonder if the walls are original? And then I wonder what I mean by that … How old does ‘original’ have to be? 100 years? 200 years? 1000? I guess ‘original’ means that flint was used because it was available. Used for a pragmatic purpose and quality driven reason, rather than a kind of nostalgia, drawing on the past with the heritage consciousness that we have now. I guess that’s what I mean by ‘original’.
And then the canal basin. Remote controlled boats chasing each other round. Then kayaks with children balanced precariously on top. Then walkers with dogs. Walkers without dogs. A runner.
And finally, almost no-one.
Sedge
The elation of walking at my own pace. Of walking a distance. Of a destination – hazy, optional, but driving me forward. Resisting the temptation to stop and speak to every plant or bird, to identify the unfamiliar.
The surprising vibrancy of Purple Loosestrife against the greens and greys of this flat weather day. Eating Haws as I go. The glossy glow of Honeysuckle berries. And – is it Stinking Iris? Bursting out in its triads, from below.
I wondered if I could twist cord as I walk. I picked some Sedge, to see if I could twist it fresh.
I can’t.
So … perhaps I could plait it.
I could.
And I love the seeds of this season, so I began to insert into my braid the story of my day, the things I see, the things I spot. The Hogweed seeds which are just so beautiful and so iconic, though we hate it so much, earlier in the year.
A Heron. And a Kingfisher. Reeds – I had to look them up. Common Reed: I loathe the word ‘common’. Australis. I’m curious about how the words ‘Australis’ and ‘Australia’ are related when it seems to mean ‘common’ in plantlore.
Willow Trees, Bulrushes, Bedstraws. Ragwort.
Moorhens, and Coots. And the water, at first mysteriously, bluey green, now completely transparent.
Could I weave my whole story as I walk. But why, and what would I do with it?
And then I realise … it’s a kind of walking Doodle. I’ve never done that before, to Doodle as I move … I wonder how that would work.
Bindweed
Chichester Marina: A sea of concrete and more boats than I have ever seen in one place.
I turned to three strands of Bindweed gathered by the canal and plaited them, ready for part two. Fiddly, plaiting with Bindweed, leaves getting in the way.
More Reeds, more Hawthorn.
Less confidence in my orientation, a kind of slight unease – a road that took me away from the water and down lanes between houses. Houses so big, so perfect, it makes me uncomfortable, the kind of – it’s not even flamboyance – the comfort of wealth.
Did the most un-wild wee ever and lost my Oak leaf with its Spangle Galls. Part of the story. Flowers, country lanes. A purple meadow flower, I don’t know what it is – maybe Chicory? Teasels, all having lost their heads. The curl of the leaves on Teasel reminds me of William Morris – an elegant, paisley curve. Adding those into my story gave me a real structural satisfaction.
I’m slower now. My hips feel the ache and I have a consciousness of time. I’m going too slowly – distracted: I can’t keep the focus for that long, as I add to the growing danglies hanging from my belt. And then suddenly I found a tree with an abundance of Silk and Spangle Galls … so excited!
And it’s time for lunch.
Field Mushrooms. Well, I looked them up: Field or Horse Mushrooms, or Yellow Stainers. Though I don’t think they’re that cos I tried the colour test. Hedge Agrimony, which I love. Finally, some blackberries still good to eat. Adrienne talked about Devil’s Spit and she’s not wrong – the flavour is gone. Still, Autumn is here, still. Some kind of Wort, I don’t know what it was. And a purple-tinged Daisy. I think I’ve seen things like that in gardens too – New York Asters, maybe. And the vibrant copper of Dock. I’ll add that to my walking story.
Grass
Leaving Itchenor through the village. I tried to plait together some Cocks Foot grasses, but they were having none of it, snap snap snap, so I turned to other grasses, and wove myself something that became a fragile wreath, a spiral.
It felt apt to be using grass, walking along by field after field, agriculture all tired at this time of year. But also, paths splitting field from hedgerow.
Continuous nibbling of Haws.
Already the sense of accomplishment that I will complete this journey.
The last, flat lands through the village towards the beach. Everything here is manicured and curated: Perfect lawns, draping Willows. Walnut trees. Not a blade of grass out of place beneath them. It’s a strange world, balancing artifice and nature.
But at last, I’m here. Sand and dunes, sand and dunes. And the sun came out.
Flint
And here again – it’s flint, amidst the sand. Flint!
I came from flint; finished with flint. I think I’ll never look at flint in the same way again.
I wrapped my Doodles onto a piece of wood on the beach, completing the journey. A kind of relief to let go of these things that I’d been carrying all the way.
And now I drift my way along the beach to the very end, and round.
Scallop shells. And the flattest sea with the deepest, deep reflections. Clouds mirrored far beneath the surface. Sanderlings, or Dunlins – I had to look them up. Hag stones. I added one, and a whelk, to the top of my Doodle.
A Social Art Commission with the community of Heavitree
This summer, after sharing my practice and ideas through an energetic, creative presentation process known as Patter Scatter, I was awarded one of three social art commissions for Art Week Exeter. An opportunity to explore, in my own community, our relationships with place and nature. And with each other too, considering how we record and remember our experiences and how a creative exchange across generations in a place familiar to both of us can forge new connections – with people, with place, and with nature.
As is central to my creative practice, I took a moment after each of the four sessions to write up my experience …
Wednesday 4 June Parklife Hub, Seniors Coffee Morning
Well now, this was a privelege and a joy. To take a table usually filled with coffee and cake. To litter it with nature collections. And to receive such a warm welcome from the folk who meet here.
Tentatively, tentatively … I’m not here to force creative activity on anyone. But just perhaps, we can have a look in the boxes, pick through them. Down the table, attention caught by Camellia pods – how many of us have Camellia in the garden; how rarely the trees bear fruit. Nearer my end, T and I found the Foxglove Tree pods, from the tree by the surgery. He was wary of creating, but as I formed a circle, he told me, nudged by B beside him, of the catapult he built as a child, how he was aiming at the cat but instead broke the glass in the greenhouse.
Persuaded S to make a trail with me; M continued it and it began to unfold across the table – after teaching me ‘flicky sticks’, which had sticks flying across the table, narrowly missing teacups. The glee of mischief – please let this game surface again next week!
Later, I began to trail with C, wrapping our arc round L’s mandala. A dinosaur emerged, though which end was the head and which was the tail remained undecided!
Next to me, J was ‘museuming’ – a made-up word for the act of choosing and admiring each individual piece, each different, and laying it in an array, celebrating each piece equally.
Quietly, the session gained momentum and there were Doodles everywhere – designs and trails, patterns and pictures.
What a start to Art Week Exeter.
Friday 6 June St Michael’s Primary Academy, the yurt, with Wildlife and Eco Champions
I found you all in the corridor; A barely contained bag of exuberance and enthusiasm. Bubbled together along to the yurt – Are we going to the park today? No that’s next week, I’ll explain in a minute. Lunch around the mat. Names and eating, questions and connections – Are we going to the park today? No, today we’re going to have a go at Doodling here. I saw something in the park, by the Hub Did you now? I wonder who did that?
Lunch finished, Wriggling, negotiating spaces, Writing names with sticks, Anchoring names in my mind before you move again. Instinctive embellishment – initials into names, into decoration, logos, motifs. Instinctive collaboration – Circular hoops making unwanted boundaries As you paired into twos, then threes, even fours.
Familiar rustle as I offered up the full collection. No hesitation, you dove straight in – Sharing, talking, dreaming, visualising Dinosaurs and zodiacs, Stories and patterns. While in the corner, two of you worked quietly, independently, Making your own worlds of delicate beauty.
A rustle again as I invited you to connect all your work … You could have continued another hour. But time will forever march – forever frame school life.
Stepped back, admired our work – Noticed spaces, dove back in, for five more pieces each, To finish. It’s never finished, really.
And after, pausing to reflect, To think ahead: What will it be like, to collaborate with older people? What will we need to think about? Your answers flowed like water. And to Doodle outside, without these collections at your fingertips? We’ll think about the wind. And … how might you to talk to these people, who you’ve never met? Ah. Now this was tricky. We’d tell them our names. Again and again. And we’d ask them their names. Say hello, be polite, be friendly. Ah, yes, but what does friendly look like? What might you ask?
And bit by bit, we began to think of the stories we might share, The memories we might pursue. How, after all, has the park changed over all these years?
What games can we teach one another? How has hide and seek changed, Across generations?
Folks, you are so keen. You are ready. See you next week.
Wednesday 11 June Heavitree Park, with Seniors and School Children
Sometimes in the last week, I’ve wondered at my naivety and idealism – to think that I can bring together utter strangers across generations and expect them to collaborate. Who am I to engage such social engineering?
And every time, the train of thought leads me here: it may not be perfect, but if I don’t try, then nothing will happen. It’s chemistry: nothing happens if people aren’t brought together.
So I tried. It was a big ask. It was incredible.
I feel as though my world has shifted a little. I’m so grateful, and so impressed, by every child and every adult who stepped into the uncertainty of collaborating creatively in nature.
I do believe you had a good time.
Friday 13 June Heavitree Park Basketball Ground, with … everyone
Mind and body so tired they no longer form sentences. But … Fragments: Constant uncertainty of the weather. Inside or outside, in or out. Set-up time slipping through my fingers. The masses arriving before we were ready, and no way to hold them back: they slip in because they belong here, this is their place. So many people, all at once. So. Many. People. G clinging to me, the overwhelm hitting us both. A hard moment. T, with her Mother-in-Law, and Adrienne – little oasis of calm doodling on discs at the table. Scent of dried lavender. Letting go. Slowly, constantly … letting go. Sonia, bubble of colour, a cluster of children drawn to her like butterflies. The child who tipped more and more things into her circle – her jungle – and then, finally, jumped on it.
I turned around and … all the materials were gone, just like that. So I rallied a crew and we headed out, foraged beneath the Sequoias, children showing me each treasure they found. Small girl with a bag of cones: This is the best day ever.
Seeing A talking to adults, like an adult herself. Sending my children off to the café with a tenner. I don’t do that enough. The frenzy at the typewriters. Curiosity about the inks. Letting go.
The drone: vision of Ethan with a cluster of children watching over his shoulder D’s Mum, who said how valuable this project had been for getting him outside. Why did I think I could control it? Why did I WANT to control it?
Berni: We couldn’t have had a better fit for Parklife My team: absolute gold, each of them. Sarah and Emily. Berni. Becky and Andy. And hardly a drop of rain.
Emily and Sarah: The deep down privilege of having a team who hold me and understand me so completely. Gratitude for the dozens of faces that showed up. The familiar ones and the new ones.
The crash, the absolute crash as I got home. Of defeat. Of overwhelm. Of everything that it was and everything that it wasn’t. Gratitude and regret for the adults who showed up: Sorrow that I couldn’t tend to you better and foster the introductions I’d imagined. [Adrienne, the next day, telling me how important it was to come together with people of all ages; T, later, sharing that her Mother-in-Law is really reticent about creating, doesn’t believe she’s any good, and that today she got stuck straight in]
The trickle of messages that came in afterwards, that told me that while I was busy trying to contain the chaos, magic was happening elsewhere.
And then later, as the drone pictures slipped into my phone … seeing Doodles from above for the first time ever. The scale – that there was, after all, a kind of coherence. There’s almost a teardrop there, don’t you think, in the shape?
Seeing the Doodles in the context of the park – just how big what I TRIED to do was. And just how big what I DID was.
And I hardly even spoke to Ethan with the drone. Thank you, Ethan.
If it wasn’t what I thought I would do, it was still something quite momentous. I counted up the circles in the drone pictures and there were 79. That means that in two hours, at least 79 people came and doodled. No wonder it was … busy.
I’ve never felt so tired in my life.
The hardest thing about social art is that you can only learn by doing it WITH people, and I’m so eternally grateful to you all for letting me learn on you.
Berni: You’re part of Parklife now.
With a thousand thanks to Art Work Exeter, Parklife (and Berni in particular), St Michael’s Primary Academy, Emily and Sarah and all those who took part. The social art commission is introduced here.
I pledged to spend at least ten minutes a day of February 2025 in Higher Cemetery, Heavitree. It’s a place of wonder for me and, having recently completed a year-long project, I wanted to immerse myself in freedom, experimentation and playfulness, unshackled by goals or outcomes.
3 On my run, there and back. Green Woodpecker. Celandine. Searching for the Witch Hazel – soon it’ll be in flower and then I’ll find it. It’s there somewhere but I can’t remember where. Walking along next to the graves of sleeping children. Winter-Rose, born sleeping just this last October. Sun on my skin. Gathering pieces to make a fascinator.
To begin with, it seemed that a new avenue opened up every day. I’d thought I might draw some of the trees; Nature Doodle; chart the arrival of Spring; make cord, ink, weavings … and I did. I did all of these things, fleedingly, as though greeting old friends, one after the other. The glory of permission to embrace my fickle attention span.
15 With G, across to Polsoe Bridge, and back again afterwards. In by the Yews, out down the wall by the Ashes. – Can you not talk to me cos I’m going to play with my imaginary friends? ………………………….. – Is the Cemetery your special place? – Yes, I think so. Where’s your special place? – The Donkey Sanctuary. ………………………….. – Are these graves new? – Newish. They’re war graves. – But the war graves are on the other side. – Yes, that’s true. Now I wonder. We’ll have to find out.
Actually, what really opened up for me, was relationships. As a daily practice, I couldn’t often manage much time in the Cemetery alone. But with either of my children, I could pass hours. G and I told a story, wrote a song. A and I discovered a forgotten tale, a heartbreaking tragedy.
9 A broken grave in the rubble mountain. Archaeologists with sticks and Cyrpess brush. “In memory of George Youldon who fell asleep in Jesus Oct … 1981” Their tragedy unfolding beneath our fingertips “Also of Mary Ann who died Oct … 1891. Children of Samuel and Mary Ann Youlden” Slowly emerging shock; lump in my throat; time offering distance. Archaeology revealing a story, A mystery to be uncovered. “Aged 4 years. Aged 2 years … months” Why? WHY?
I wondered about the Lady in the Lodge; I talked to strangers, sought answers to questions from friends and neighbours who each know the Cemetery in a different way. Brought a Creative Nature Bimble here. I came at dawn, at dusk, in the dark – looked at the stars. And ultimately pulled Frankie into a deep and mesmerising search for the story of the Youlgen children, whose gravestone A and I uncovered in the early days.
16 10 minutes in the dark, drawing the trees
And the entire project was everything I thought it might be, and more, and yet it was only a beginning …
25 Morning run. Outbound – running: – A Green Woodpecker – Two men walking together, deep in conversation. I wish that wasn’t so unusual. – Catherine Rees, Councillor. I always recognise her AFTER I’ve said hello. Homebound – walking: – Stopped to photograph all the Silver Birches in the bottom corner. Looping round and round and round. The whole Cemetery is too much. For now. – We never mention Pigeons or Magpies, do we?
In Higher Cemetery is a personal project – an artist residency, if you like: an ongoing relationship to explore the wild, urban place around the corner from my home. You can’t put time frames on such a project but … I have given myself three years to begin with!
The Nature Doodles Project 