Maps

This lump of rock is the (second?) oldest European map known to exist and dates from the early Bronze Age. It appeared on Instagram recently and I impetuously pulled it off without retaining any of the useful information which went with it. I do know that the central bit marks a village enclosure, and the lines and other features refer to various tracks and rivers in the locality. They - whoever they were - have matched it to the topography of a particular area and with a bit more research you could probably find out where that area is. Everything disappears so quickly on Instagram.

The last things I became interested in before I left my sculpture course at art school were maps. They struck me as a wonderful way of creating sculpture on a vast scale from the comfort of my cosy house, and provided the perfect excuse for rambling field trips in the lovely Surrey countryside - something like the way people use dogs to add meaning to their lives.

Of course, most of these sculptural projects were conceptual. I have always found potential much more exciting than end results, mainly because I am lazy. Not physically lazy - I have worked extremely hard on sculpture over the years - but mentally lazy. Maps provide a way to enable yourself to fly without getting into a plane, and you fly in your mind. Then, a few years ago, they invented affordable drones with high resolution cameras on board.

I first saw a bit of drone footage when we went to a museum in Florence. A man and a woman in medieval dress were talking to each other on a green field when the camera rose above their heads, and in a few seconds we were looking down on them from about 200 feet. When the exhibition was over I rushed outside and called my cameraman friend in England. Can you fly drones? I gushed, I want to make a short film using one.

He managed to talk his way out of any involvement in my schemes, telling me that the insurance for both their use and the equipment itself was prohibitive for any unfunded project, so I waited until I got funding from sponsorship before making a short and rather boring film using a commercial drone pilot who did not really know what he was doing. At least I did it once.

Archeologists have always studied maps in a similar way I did. Tumuli is one of the most exciting words to be found on an O.S. map of any age - the older the better. Tumuli don't shift as roads do. They may get plowed off of maps, but they can still be spotted from a few hundred feet up, using a drone which you can buy for around £100. 

A couple of weeks ago, a man from Ordnance Survey turned up to my workshop and unloaded a telescopic pole with a white box at the top, then began setting it up in the fields. The box had a camera lens on all four sides.

I asked him what he was doing and he said, "Making sure everything is still in the right place".

Maps first and drones after would be good, but I don't think I will do that now. I will go back to maps from an armchair and hovering over in my head.