Creating Phantoms
I work in a purpose-built studio in my garden, some distance from the house. It has running water, which I need for macerating leaves, together with kitchen and bathroom facilities to ensure uninterrupted concentration during the working day. An air source heat pump creates a comfortable environment, with a constant temperature for the storage of prepared skeletons and finished phantoms.
“The art is one which seems designed for female hands exclusively. If some of its attendant operations are unpleasant, all are yet delicate and gentle. No rude hand can manipulate these tender fibres but to destroy them.”
(‘A Treatise on the Art of Producing Skeleton Leaves.’ Boston: J. E. Tilton & Co. 1864)
The creation of phantoms begins with the gathering of mature leaves in high summer, which are then submerged in tubs of clean, cold water:
“The old-fashioned method of leaving (the leaves) to decompose in water is, perhaps, the safest, and may be highly recommended for the exercise it necessitates of that desirable virtue, patience.” (‘How to Skeletonise Leaves.’ Girl’s Own Paper. 1880)
I avoid the addition of chemical agents to hasten the process of maceration. Through several changes of putrid liquid the decaying pulp is carefully removed using needles and fine brushes. It may take over twelve months of quiet effort to achieve the desired result. Yet even with this cautious and painstaking approach, many failures occur, some specimens disintegrating entirely.
“The operator may consider herself eminently successful if she is able to present, as finished specimens, one half the number of leaves originally gathered.” (‘A Treatise on the Art of Producing Skeleton Leaves.’ Boston: J. E. Tilton & Co. 1864)
Successful specimens, bleached then dried - pressed flat, or left to curl naturally - are now ready for construction to begin. There will be some with interestingly torn edges and perforations that can be usefully incorporated, without compromising the overall ethereal beauty of a finished phantom:
Leaves, stems and seed vessels - some reinforced with fine wire - are secured to a prepared base, and to each other, with small amounts of adhesive. As the composition proceeds shapes and spaces coalesce, and the emerging phantom begins to acquire a mysterious life of its own:
Finished Phantoms
The moment of completion is always a gentle surprise, a feeling that seems to emanate from the newly created object itself. Once the glass cover is finally fixed in place, great care must still be taken when handling lest elements become dislodged. It pleases me to think that as with their Victorian forebears, the pristine whiteness of organic fibres will eventually mellow to ivory and cream, overlaying these contemporary phantoms with the patina of time.
“Nor is this fair ornament destitute of that highest function of nature and art, to lift the soul from grovelling things up to the regions of poetry and love.” (E.Parrish: ‘The Phantom Bouquet: A Popular Treatise on the Art of Skeletonizing Leaves and Seed-Vessels, and Adapting them to Embellish the Home of Taste.’ Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co. ; London: Alfred Bennet. 1862)
By its very nature a skeleton leaf is a memento of its own past. In similar fashion the titles I choose for these ornamental abstractions reference cherished memories - of people, places and particular circumstances.
My hope is that as elegant objets d’art these unique leaf sculptures speak softly, with a whisper - akin to a shared secret rather than a public declaration. And that, as such, they are truly: