The day began with an artist-led walk by Sarah Boulton as part of the BorderLands Walking Series, inviting participants to spend time with the landscape through walking, movement and poetry.

As the group made their way through the landscape, Boulton had organised for a series of gestures performed by her friends and family to take place in the distance. Mostly invisible to the group, the gestures existed in the form of poetic ‘tellings’: the walkers were invited to imagine a dancer moving on Hay Bluff to the outline of the black mountains; to picture two children carrying a silver lake on the Begwns; to consider the now gone bluebells in the woods we stood in. 

Rather than following a fixed narrative, the walk unfolded through moments of attention, repetition and encounter. One of the gestures carried out in the distant landscape with a small piece of sheep’s wool was echoed in a field a little later on, where threads of white wool hung in rhythmic patterns from the trees along its edge. The landscape became an active part of the experience, walkers noted the possibility that the mountains were changing shape, re-appearing and moving as they moved. Horses galloped in unison in a nearby field and the group wondered if these might be part of the choreographed work. 

There was a gentle sense of play throughout the walk, balanced with moments of quiet reflection. The shared experience of imagining the poetic gestures happening in the distant or near-distant view created opportunities for conversation and collective observation, reminding us that walking can be both a social act – a way of moving through something together – and a way of shaping our attention.

Sarah Boulton’s walk reflected the spirit of the BorderLands Walking Series by offering an invitation to experience the landscape differently. Through poetry, performance and collective imagination, the walk explored how our relationship to land is formed and how intimately we can know the shape and the ways of the land that surrounds us. 

Is this art?

Maybe the act of being an artist is noticing.

Walking along the line that follows the bluff to the left and I look up, I’m walking parallel to a beautiful black horse, head down, trudging on. I stand in stillness watching her move forward with determination. I pause. Breathe. Feel the wind. I then continue on along the path.

I stop at a rock nestled into the side of the mountain next to a trickling stream. Take off my shoes and sigh. The energy of the mountain beneath my feet. The air against my skin. The birds singing. I feel enveloped by the mountain as if it is reaching down to hug me. Is this art?

I dance, I move, I breathe, I chant, I sigh, I hum. Inspired by the mountain. Is this art?

Walking, the pendulum swing of legs and arms. Awareness of feet against earth, stone, grass. Is this art?

Standing at the top, looking out over what feels like the rest of the world. Peach in hand. Fuzzy skin against my lips. I bite, juice dribbling down my chin, fingers. Sweet, delicious. Is this art? 

Meg the dancer

Feathers and wool ended up on a magical walking stick we picked up, collecting treasures and whizzing my little one’s legs along. Some scattered in the wind, and some standing in little cracks on the way. Such a lovely walk, thanks so much, it was a really nice day, and so good to talk to the kids about other things happening at the same time, and different arts and thoughts. He noticed so many beautiful things on the way, and I think he really enjoyed the poetry of it.

Participant