Sous-bois – In search of underwood

Sensible people don’t spend entire afternoons discussing art and archaeology with artists in the formative years of their business. However, whether it involves hours walking to distant plant communities or carrying out intensive research into geology or ancient roads in Turkey, it is important to us to develop a practice that is not solely defined by expediency.

Those early years of Philip learning about philosophy and painting from Michael Shepherd at his Onehunga studio have continued over nearly two decades, bringing us to the point in time where the three of us recently disappeared into a conversation on the subject of sous-bois (within painting and landscape architecture).

The catalyst for an unusual level of dialogue about sous-bois (which translates literally as under-wood) was an occasion in which Michael mentioned Georges Seurat’s painting, ‘Sous-bois a Pontaubert’ – a masterful depiction of the zone in which shadow draws the eye into the woodland understorey.

For landscape architects, this is an interesting subject for what it tells us about those points within environments where lines become dissolved and shadows coalesce. Landscapes become atmospheric, rather than conspicuous expressions of space and form.

As Michael notes, many of Seurat’s drawings and paintings belong to the evenness of light found in late afternoons and evenings (especially compared with Cezanne’s paintings of sous-bois) – a period within the day when volumes become united. In particular, the handling of light and shadow in Seurat’s drawings gives them the quality of ‘nocturnes’¹.

This is somewhat antithetical to the instincts instilled within designers, which are heavily driven by the act of ‘specification’ and explicit expressions of form (often representative of linear thinking).

The parallels between sous-bois and architectural space are apparent in Jun’ichirō Tanizaki’s essay, ‘In Praise of Shadows’ – in which the author writes :

“There is nothing more. And yet, when we gaze into the darkness that gathers behind the crossbeam, around the flower vase, beneath the shelves, though we know perfectly well it is mere shadow, we are overcome with the feeling that in this small corner of the atmosphere there reigns complete and utter silence; that here in the darkness immutable tranquillity holds sway.”²

In wild places, this ‘tranquillity’ is inhabited by unknown animals, plants and fungi; and therefore contains possibilities beyond our immediate view. Much like apartments whose internal atmospheres are only partially punctuated by light, interesting lives are imaginable in the recesses that eschew full illumination of environments (built or otherwise).

In our work, we often find ourselves discussing the work of the American landscape architect, A. E. Bye. For Bye, seeing the world through photography was an important part of how he approached his work – including examination of the woodland edge and the indeterminate volumes extending beyond it.

Sous-bois exists along a broad spectrum of scales, from the compact shadows formed (and continually re-formed) by badgers in British hedges (when making their setts) to light wells within forest – as shown in the beech forest (with pokaka growing amongst it) in the first photo within this essay.

The image above left demonstrates a similar scale to badger setts, with hound’s tongue fern (Zealandia pustulata) marching off into a small pocket of shrubland on hills overlooking Wellington’s southern coastline. It is likely that kiwi would have previously created these kinds of niches in our landscapes (akin to badgers) when they were more abundant. In this way, sous-bois can register as a reminder of biological life.

The final image within this essay shows a critically endangered grass, Simplicia laxa (charmingly described as a ‘feeble, inconspicuous’ species on NZPCN’s profile) at the entrance of a grotto-like cave near Macraes Flat.

As we stared into this tenebrous habitat (like Caravaggio without the intrigue), it occurred to me that we were observing an analogue of the understorey of dry forests that once covered this area. With the gradual passing of such environments (especially in the face of fire), the forest edge receded to the last places that afford the combination of shade, fertility and drainage that species like Simplicia laxa require to survive – a geological ‘ring-in’ for the underwood of vanished woodlands.