utility/futility – an exploration of use and beauty through futile acts
FUTILE ACT ONE: ICE
During January 2010 I spent three weeks attempting to make and keep frozen spring water.
The spring is a fifty minute walk (there and back) from where I normally work in the woods. The idea of having a supply of fresh water at hand feels comforting and useful. With the temperature falling to minus 5 degrees centigrade at night, making ice outdoors is possible, providing a means to store the water and keep it fresh.
Thermal underwear; waterproof socks; woollen jumper; gloves; scarf; hat; waterproof jacket.
Oatcakes; cheese; banana; knife; folding saw; string; lighter; shovel; water bottle.
I walk to the spring, collect some water and walk back to camp. I light a fire and boil the water for thirty minutes, wait for it to cool, pour it into two shallow containers and cover loosely with clingfilm.
I dig a hole, unsure how deep to make it. I keep digging till I hit rock and can dig no further. Decision made. I cut down some small hazel twigs and string them together to make a cover for the ice hole.
At 4.00pm twilight sets in. A fox walks past, stopping to see what I’m doing before it walks on, navigating the narrow paths made by animals. I leave the ice to freeze.
I make many more trips to the woods over the following three weeks – collecting spring water, leaving it to freeze, placing the ice in the insulated hole. I dig the hole deeper, line it with more insulation, pile on more leaves. Each time I return to the ice hole I push aside the leaves, remove the hazel twig cover, pull out the insulating fleece and look for the ice. Each time it has melted away.
I stop trying. I sit and watch the sky as it turns pink/purple in the winter dusk. I light a fire and make tea with the spring water. The fox walks past again, coming closer this time. We sit and stare at each other for awhile. The fox carries on and I make my way home.