I am thinking of making a tolbos out of found materials around the story I am gathering along the rail line walks. The kids playing with their wire cars along the rail line set off this thought. My idea would be to push this tolbos along the rail line as a performance over time. It would be nice if the bush could gather more materials as I push it during the performance walk.
This tolbos can start with seeds and plant materials from a real tolbos, but this layer should be sealed because it is a listed invader. I would like to include my wire-weaving method (Ruth Asawa’s looped work) as another layer.
I can imagine as I push this along the rail line near Knolfontein, the wire loops will act as a collector. It could snag sheep’s wool from fences, or dried renosterbos twigs, even modern detritus like paper and plastic I often see on the rail.
I need to ask if I am taking on the role of the wind that does the pushing, and turning it into human labour? Instead of a playful draadkar handle, perhaps a shoulder strap or a lead that requires me to lean into the walk will be a good idea to pull the gathering ‘rolbos’ along.
I saw an Instagram post of an artist who made a ‘brain’ and her method caught my attention. She worked with cling wrap plastic and chicken wire, and stronger wire to create the form.
The earliest ethnobotanical exploration was by the Cape Governor Simon Van der Stel, who visited Namaqualand in 1685 (De Wet and Pheiffer, 1979). A few medicinal plants were described and illustrated, including only one detailed account – on the use and value of kanna or channa (Mesembryanthemum tortuosum), a traditional masticatory that may also be taken as an infusion in milk or water. The second significant contribution was by Thunberg, who recorded the names and uses of about 33 medicinal plants during his long journeys into the Cape interior in the period from 1772 to 1775.
Pappe, 1847, Pappe, 1850, Pappe, 1854, Pappe, 1868 was the first to attempt a systematic and comprehensive account of Cape medicinal plants.
National Heritage Day (every 24 September) and overall during the same month a focus apparently exists to create awareness, and to celebrate.
In his work, Marder often critiques the violent language we use against plants—words like “invader,” “coloniser,” or “alien”—noting that these terms are often anthropomorphic projections of our own political anxieties onto the vegetal world. I would think that he would likely argue that by labelling a plant “alien,” we are distancing ourselves from the fact that we—humans—are the ones who moved it. The plant is not “invading”; it is responding to a niche we created. In the Renosterveld, an invasive acacia is merely a “graft” onto a new landscape that was perhaps made vulnerable by our own industrial activity (the railway itself). While conservationists see the removal of alien plants as a “rescue” of the Renosterveld, Marder might point to the ontological violence inherent in total eradication. He doesn’t necessarily say we shouldn’t manage them, but he asks us to recognise that these plants are also living “others” with their own intelligence. Marder might suggest that “alien” plants are often under extreme environmental stress themselves—they are “orphans” of their original ecosystems. Their aggressive growth is a frantic attempt to belong to the new soil.
Bennett, J. (2009). Vibrant matter: A political ecology of things. Durham, NC: Duke University Press