For seven decades of my life five ancient sweet chestnut trees were my close companions. They had been planted centuries ago in a nine-acre orchard that is identified on an old estate map dating from
the end of the seventeenth century. My sister and I spent our childhood playing under the canopy of these mighty trees, scrambling into them to squat and read, or hatch our next exploit. They are certainly individuals – each planted firmly in the ground. Each has its own poise, manner and sculptural master plan. Even in adversity with limbs broken by tornado-force winds, I have watched with admiration how these trees have slowly and steadily rebalanced themselves, growing new branches that reach outwards, reinventing their space.

Time for the trees is cyclical, with its rhythm of the seasons: dormancy, awakening, and then harvest. Equally inspirational is the forceful strength and immensity of an apparently silent, long and rooted life. These five trees contain within them the memory of successive generations of farmers who set their swine free to feed under their canopy, of many families who gathered the fruit of the orchard, and of the children who played happily under the unseen eye of these generous giants. I believe the heart of all my endeavour stems from the constancy of these old friends, their setting and what they have taught me. In 1998 they were the subject of these portraits. They have reappeared at different times until, in 2013, I made my final farewell gift to them.