An older man in a yellow windbreaker said, laconically, “Yep.”
Bolton brushed past a tree dusted with shimmering confetti. “A local
nursery uses this as a faerie tree,” explained Bolton. “They get a bit
heavy-handed with the glitter. This is a lime leaf; it has a nice small
point. Woodlands can be your inspiration.”
The group gathered around to watch him make a pointy clay nose
and fern mustache. Some of the participants looked baleful, some
giddy. Their slickers hung loosely and askew against bodies that had
gone slack. For many, this would be their first time out of the house
all week. But they were obliging. They were six weeks in, halfway;
they knew the drill. One man in his early twenties, pudgy with a
mohawk, wearing a saggy blue sweatshirt, told me he goes in more
for the bush skills than the art. “I like making fires and camping,” he
told me. He used to do that with his grandfather, when he was a child.
He told me he had recently been released from a hospital, that he had
scars in the back of his neck. He was glad to be out doing things like a
regular bloke. He grabbed a fistful of pine needles and patted them
into clay for eyebrows.
Everyone seemed absorbed. It was fun. Making temporary art was
a way to be both together and in your own space without high stakes.
We admired each other’s gargoyles, offering nods and murmurs. The
participants, like the gargoyles themselves, represented a wide range
of age, color and affect. They were ready for a snack. Gold took over,
pulling out an enormous metal pot called a Kelly Kettle. We watched
as he demonstrated how to spark a small twiggy fire, first with a bow-
like implement out of Sherwood Forest, and when that didn’t work,
with flint and cotton balls. It was not, let it be said, as speedy as using
a Bic. Eventually, he scooped the burning twigs into a ring around the
kettle. It boiled the water surprisingly fast. We took tea and biscuits,
because that’s what Scots do, even in the forest. Many people pulled
out cigarettes, because that’s what Glaswegians do. They would go
home nicely tired, pleased that they’d survived a social outing