Fallen Leaves.
oB x Botanical Inks.
Seven Oak & Chestnut hand painted shirts.
The Autumnal fruits of a truly love-driven project, two years in the making.
Natural pigments. Hand painted. Khadi cotton.
We invited Oak & Chestnut the garments, and we hoped that wearing them close to our skin and through our lives, that we may feel a sense of gentle, yet strongly rooted and stable, holding, to carry us through our days.
Providing the empowered strength we need to rise above challenges, stronger and wiser.
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Fallen leaf shirts as amulets
In the Autumn season, the trees are emitting a bio-chemical fragrance, lulling the animals and creatures back into their safety to shelter from the elements and to winter in their warm embracing bows and roots.
Bab’s was reminded of this vision: ‘As I brewed those large vats of windfall foliage. The aromatic tree language was thick in the air, penetrating every moment in the studio’s walls with a warming, comforting, earthy, good-feeling, protective and lulling atmosphere.
Like a mist that enveloped the space with a trance-inducing euphoria that is not of the higher realms of the mind and vision, but a deeper, more grounded and embodied presence, drawing down to the lower cauldrons of my body - the heart and womb inner spaces.
Rich, earthy, fertile notes of nutrient dense humus, felt within the cells of my body and through that scent filling the room.’
Creating the pigment ink.
Fallen leaves gathered from the grounds of Ashton Court in Bristol.
Reduced, exhausted of their pigment.
Over a number of days.
The Oak and Chestnut is slowly reduced them down to lake pigments, the consistency of a thick treacle syrup, and mixed with a natural plant starch binder which allows for an easeful flow from brush to fabric surface while creating an even dispersion of pigment and a tight and smooth quality of line.
Spontaneous free-hand line strokes that were led by the hand, in no particular order.
From the dried leaves came a semi translucent treacle-like liquid that had to be kept and used fresh. During the stage of painting I had to work quickly. A natural gum thicker carried the leaf pigment across the cloth, gliding across as it sunk into the weave.
I found the pigment always changing it’s hue, alive… from deep soil browns to vibrant rusts, rich in natural resemblance to the original fallen leaves.
The most drastic change occurred when a small drop of Iron modifier solution was combined into the mix, the iron reacts with the natural tannins found in the Oak and Chestnut leaves to immediately shift the pigment black.
I cut the roll of cloth into individual pieces, I mordanted the fabric with alum as to be sure to get the best dye fastness of the ink. Each piece was laid and ironed flat out on the table on a soft mat of layered fabric as so to cushion the painting brush.
Nervously the first line was painted, wobbly and unsure, with an achingly tight grip. But as each line was added it grew in character, strokes became more confident, then it became a play of placing lines, opening and closing space, overlapping, creating meeting points.
When the dark ink would sit for a while a sediment layer settled, the leaf debris collecting together again, waking it up, I continually mixed up small batches of paint to work from. The starch thickener was a fresh and had a shelf life. The inks wanted to be worked with quickly but the whole meditative process took many hours over a number of weeks.
Hand painting.
In a space between meditative concentration and time constrain.
Many hours over a number of weeks.
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Babs: As a natural dyer, my practise is in drawing these herbal characteristics into textiles, imbuing our garments and fabrics with the herbal support we wish for.
I heard a story once that in olden days, before the witch trials, when our communities were populated with women (and some men) who held the knowledge of the plants, were able to speak with them and work with them to help others. The herbalists, healers, midwives, natural dyers… They would make their herbal brews and add their undergarments to soak in their medicinal essences. To then be worn next to the most sensitive parts of the skin - the nipples and vagina.
It is good to note that the skin is the largest organ of the body.
It is a semipermeable membrane, i.e. porous and absorbs that which it touches.
Our feet swell with water when we enter the sea or river, helping us to navigate our way over rocks more easefully. When we sweat we absorb even more of that which our skin touches.
In fact, the reality is that there is no such thing as a 100% solid object in the world…everything vibrates, sheds, absorbs and interacts with the next thing, constantly reverberating and moving, changing and growing. Including rocks and crystals, trees, fungi, animals, water, clouds…
All are constantly changing and interacting in an endless cycle.
So, my point comes back to, that we would benefit from being conscious and intentional about what we choose to place next to our skin. And that we can be very intentional about it, and choose to imbue ourselves with the herbal essences of the plants, which can support us the most at different times.
We are always changing, our moods, health, situations and challenges. It is a beautiful practice to know which plant allies can offer support to our different states of being.
And this is why we could all benefit from getting to know the plants around us, and how our ancestors knew them and invited them into their homes and lives.
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Every plant has a different character of fragrance and offers a unique somatic experience, if you allow yourself to become sensitive enough to welcome them in.
As I sit and recall those moments now, the comfort I felt at being in that space. I am reminded of how it might feel to be in the presence of a strong and deeply rooted person - perhaps a father or grandfather. That unconscious feeling of safety and protection that provides the space to drop, to let go and be simply held in his confident, grounded masculine strength.
And that is how I get to feel when I walk through the park and the big, old trees that have been standing there for 100 or 200 years.
There is something in that grounded presence of the ancient oaks and chestnut trees. Such big and strong, wizened elders. In a world that often feels lacking in this kind of strength, I go to these trees to find that support - a place to drop and let go, feeling held.
I sometimes wonder if many people feel familiar with this experience in day to day life and in the current dominant society we find ourselves in?
I like to think that, if we wanted to draw in more of this healthy masculine energy to our lives, it could be possible by spending more time in the company of tall ancient trees like Oak and Chestnut.
If you are interested in learning more about plant-to-print dyes or would like to create your own leaf pigment, you can learn more within Bab’s own publication Botanical Inks: Plant-to-print dyes, techniques and projects.
Signed copies available from the Botanical Inks website:
Downloadable online workshop recording here.
Words by Babs Behan & Milly Melbourne.
Feature editing & creation: Louise Honey