Giants in the Forest (Interlude, 5.4)

In From Hell, not the cheeriest of comparisons, comic book genius Alan Moore talks about how it is possible, by selecting locations on a map, to find the secret lines of power that surge through the landscape. Although there are better ways to look at a map then by drawing silly occult symbols connecting random places, I am intrigued by the pattern of the Giant locations.

In teaching my young critics, I encourage them to find their own voices, and not worry overly about the importance of detailed knowledge of a particular genre. The emotional impact of an act or event on an innocent mind can be as exciting as the considered response of a seasoned professional.

I mention both of these things as they form the foundation of the following thoughts - and plead for some patience if my contemplation is ridiculous.

It's the half-way mark in my adventure. I am at the beginning of a cycle route from Drum Castle to Aberdeen, as suggested by Laura the NTS expert. I sit on the remains of the platform, pondering how my father would love this bit - a cycle ride along an old railway line. Of course, he'd like it more if there were a steam train...

To distract me from realising how I am, indeed, turning into my father, I take out the dog-eared map of the Giants. I roll out the map I printed from google, and start to reflect.

Five places so far: two in the south, one in the central belt, another in Fife and the latest - Aberdeen and environs. My felt tip can't join them up into a big smiling face - my journey has been rather lineal, in all honesty. But I feel as if I have covered some extreme terrain.

When I noticed that the heads remained static, unbothered by gentle breeze or the slow bobbing of branches and bush around them, I tried to explain this in terms of a symbolic meaning. The basic structure of each head is similar - I am starting to recognise certain templates - while they have all been decorated in different ways. Yet their surroundings are the real difference: the glade of Bowhill, the action adventure treetops of Glentrees, the foot of the Royal Mile...

The project was not conceived to attract clowns like me who rush about the countryside, staring at everything through the filter of urban alienation. It is all about the local community making something together. As one of my contacts put it - 'it's kind of a trick to get them into nature,' to get them to engage with the surrounding. Then another contact put it another way 'it makes the connection between art and nature, between the national and the local.'

I had been playing a little game in my head - I ask each set of heads whether they had a message to pass onto the next set of heads. The Bowhill Heads said simply 'how are you?' At Glentrees, they replied that they were looking forward to the big event in the autumn. At Yellowcraig they were all about boasting of their fine location ('our guests walk up a small hill and can see across the bay, out to North Berwick').

There's another trick here - by being the same, they highlight the difference around them. The imaginery conversations that I made up to relay from one set to another were really about how objects are defined by their context. There was a self-contained air to the Edinburgh heads, sitting lower in the trees than others but sending out a message of warmth and comfort. The Glentress heads, although in a perfectly discreet location, had a more demanding presence.