{reposting this as it was lost to the mess of my Google Docs drafts folder}
Derek Jarman travelled to the small town of Avebury, taking his 8mm camera, seemingly enamoured by the landscape. He created the short film A Journey to Avebury (1971) I recently had the pleasure to watch this at the ICA. Jarman's trip to Avebury is the first time I’ve been transported back to my home county in the cinema. The shaky, dark, golden sepia tones feel as if the stones are affecting the image, prying control from the camera.
Avebury, located in my home country of Wiltshire, is encircled by 4,500-year-old standing stones. The purpose of these stones has never been discovered, believed to have a link to paganism. Allegedly, they were ordered to be buried in the 14th century, the only remnant of this burial being a skeleton entombed beneath one stone, which still stands. Along with the existing stones, Avebury once had a suspected 25-foot circular bank with a 30-foot drop on the other side; the purpose of this is also still a mystery.
Shadowed often by the nearby Stonehenge, Avebury has a unique, eerie quality. The village is surrounded by these ancient monoliths, staring inwards at its inhabitants. Also, unlike Stonehenge, Avebury doesn't restrict visitors; you can go up, touch and engage with these stones. The effect for me at least gives the area this seductive trait, it's almost as if the stones themselves lure you in. It feels as though the town of Avebury is stuck in time, encircled by these Neolithic relics from the past, having grown up within walking distance to Stonehenge, there is something specific about the surrounding area and how the hills roll on beyond the landscape, the way the wind whistles past your ears and the shadows dance in the forests.
Setting the scene, Jarman frames lonely fields which seem to go on forever, while a uniquely electronic soundtrack bubbles in the background. We hear the sounds of birds and see sheep grazing in the field staring back at us. Misty hills and ancient trees occupy the scene, almost interrogating the camera, showing their entitlement to the land. I am reminded of both summer evenings and windy days traipsing through such environments, alone, being able to see nothing but these green rolling hills, interrupted only by such animals or imposing trees and forests. When alone and faced with this, it triggers an uncanny feeling deep inside of me. No direct danger or fear to be found, but something old, something primal.
The stones are introduced as if they are alive. As we come close to the stones, it's like they are singing to us, the electronic soundtrack now overpowering the song of the countryside. There is a connection to the wyrd and pagan histories of rural England at Avebury. It is believed the stone circles were once used for ritual, and the 8mm film lends itself nicely to bringing this theme out. The dark, grainy corners of the stones turn into faces as we zoom in and out of their surface. Often the stones are shot from below, their formidable size (atits highest around three metres) hovering above us. Jarman circles around and around, showing us the different stones throughout the town, sometimes on their own, in groups, close up and far away. As Jarman gets closer to each stone, the sound becomes louder and more intense, a spatial reaction to his presence.
Jarman was particularly interested in the practice of alchemy, believing that film was the “wedding of light and matter”, even going so far as to research the lives of Renaissance magicians. Being so connected to something as ancient as alchemy, which aims to understand the corporeal principles of the universe, would no doubt provoke a reaction from something so ancient and mysterious as these stone circles. Perhaps this reaction to his presence is two ancient things, coming close to one another once more.