Almias II
My last post on the Almias project was rather too brief, being posted to coincide with the general launch of the site. So, to wrap things up, here's a more detailed summary.
Almias was a collaboration between Simon Bradley, Layla Smith and myself as part of the Harrogate Fringe Festival. They originally wanted some kind of gig I think, but since playing live isn't something I do often any more a different approach was required.
I'd always been drawn to the lonely gritstone tor called Almscliffe Crag. In my personal vision of the landscape it came to symbolise height: a stone head surveying the land (- and interestingly I came across the same lines of thought in the work of my friend Iona Smith). I'd read about alleged links with 'druids' in the works of some of the more fanciful 19th century historians and had previously done some recordings there for XETB, but knew I had only scratched the surface. Sensing a rich and hidden history Almscliffe Crag called out as somewhere to work with closely for an intensive period. The results in text, photography and sound are at almias.org.uk.
In the event itself we tried to mediate between what would probably have been an expectation of “local history” walk and more free “psychogeographic” modes of experience. As part of the walk from Huby to the Crag and passage into more free-form territory was provided by a soundwalk. It seemed fitting to have a large group processing in pilgrim silence and heightened awareness to Baal's high place. One of the most interesting aspects of soundwalking is as an aid to discovering the discrete soundworlds within a locale: a passage through zones each with their own unique characteristics and indwelling genii.
We eventually devolved into smaller groups and from there into exploration on an individual basis, before reuniting to discuss our experiences and make a traditional offering at the magical 'wart well' atop the crag. A beautiful day that brought together quite a diverse range of people including an archaeologist and mythic fiction writer; an Irish lady who introduced me to pishoguery; a climber and caver who expanded our appreciation of the geology of the place; and the editor of one of my favourite periodicals.
I'm pleased to have had the opportunity to collaborate with such a beautiful and talented pair as Simon & Layla. I first met Simon as part of a nascent group for 'Visionary Artists' that shamanic artist Bruce Rimell was trying to coordinate. Inevitable ego clashes saw to it that the group never made it past the first few meetings, but we vowed that we would do something together one day. As an improviser, oral historian, writer and fellow reveller in the strange, we had to use Almias to put our thoughts into action.
Layla seems to have visited and photographed almost every prehistoric site in these isles and has a knack for surprising me with all sorts of out of the way archaeological facts and speculations. She's a brilliant photographer who also shares my instinct to obsess and dream about places.
Through our constant visits, researches and documentation Almias was a pure labour of love. We ended up with 13,000 words - and could easily write 13,000 more: there were things that we just couldn't fit in at the time such as the anecdote about a lovelorn maid jumping from the cliff (and surviving) and our attempts to trace her, more on local lore and a hundred things later inferred from Simon's interview with the landowner.
I'm rather proud of what we achieved in what was really only a matter of weeks. I'm hoping that the Almias group will work together on some new projects: new possibilities are already presenting themselves.
Almias was a collaboration between Simon Bradley, Layla Smith and myself as part of the Harrogate Fringe Festival. They originally wanted some kind of gig I think, but since playing live isn't something I do often any more a different approach was required.
I'd always been drawn to the lonely gritstone tor called Almscliffe Crag. In my personal vision of the landscape it came to symbolise height: a stone head surveying the land (- and interestingly I came across the same lines of thought in the work of my friend Iona Smith). I'd read about alleged links with 'druids' in the works of some of the more fanciful 19th century historians and had previously done some recordings there for XETB, but knew I had only scratched the surface. Sensing a rich and hidden history Almscliffe Crag called out as somewhere to work with closely for an intensive period. The results in text, photography and sound are at almias.org.uk.
In the event itself we tried to mediate between what would probably have been an expectation of “local history” walk and more free “psychogeographic” modes of experience. As part of the walk from Huby to the Crag and passage into more free-form territory was provided by a soundwalk. It seemed fitting to have a large group processing in pilgrim silence and heightened awareness to Baal's high place. One of the most interesting aspects of soundwalking is as an aid to discovering the discrete soundworlds within a locale: a passage through zones each with their own unique characteristics and indwelling genii.
We eventually devolved into smaller groups and from there into exploration on an individual basis, before reuniting to discuss our experiences and make a traditional offering at the magical 'wart well' atop the crag. A beautiful day that brought together quite a diverse range of people including an archaeologist and mythic fiction writer; an Irish lady who introduced me to pishoguery; a climber and caver who expanded our appreciation of the geology of the place; and the editor of one of my favourite periodicals.
I'm pleased to have had the opportunity to collaborate with such a beautiful and talented pair as Simon & Layla. I first met Simon as part of a nascent group for 'Visionary Artists' that shamanic artist Bruce Rimell was trying to coordinate. Inevitable ego clashes saw to it that the group never made it past the first few meetings, but we vowed that we would do something together one day. As an improviser, oral historian, writer and fellow reveller in the strange, we had to use Almias to put our thoughts into action.
Layla seems to have visited and photographed almost every prehistoric site in these isles and has a knack for surprising me with all sorts of out of the way archaeological facts and speculations. She's a brilliant photographer who also shares my instinct to obsess and dream about places.
Through our constant visits, researches and documentation Almias was a pure labour of love. We ended up with 13,000 words - and could easily write 13,000 more: there were things that we just couldn't fit in at the time such as the anecdote about a lovelorn maid jumping from the cliff (and surviving) and our attempts to trace her, more on local lore and a hundred things later inferred from Simon's interview with the landowner.
I'm rather proud of what we achieved in what was really only a matter of weeks. I'm hoping that the Almias group will work together on some new projects: new possibilities are already presenting themselves.