Lena C. Emery — Yuka & The Forest

As Emery’s second book and continuation to “Rie”, “Yuka & The Forest” (published in November 2018 by Art Paper Editions) takes this thought further and introduces us to said young girl as well as the chinju no mori, the sacred forest. We are reminded that cultures like that of Japan which are deeply embedded in nature, have been able to perserve much of their natural habitat by having fostered an interconnected value system.

Within “Yuka & The Forest” we embark on a journey of reflection that leads us through a remote village high into the midst of a vast landscape. We are prompted to contemplate nature’s profound serenity and as the last pages fall also of its demise at the hand of our own. The book is printed on 100% recycled paper stock, with 30% of profit being donated to The World Wide Fund for Nature who focus their efforts on wilderness preservation and the reduction of human impact on the environment.

After having travelled to Tokyo for the first time in 1999, over a decade passed before Emery discovered the Japanese countryside and its incredible forest landscape. Since 2015 she has returned every year.

Emery is currently working on her third book “The Tree”, which is to be released at the end of 2019, rendering the trilogy complete. “The Tree” unlike the previous books will function as less of a singular study and more of a culmination of thought, capturing humanity in constant flux in a liminal state between nature and the our modern city:


“I believe that humanity and nature do not need to form a binary and the understanding of building cities where we separate the place of habitation from the place of nature may well one day seem absurd. Through continuing these vital discussions I want to help dream up a better version of a future where we cooperate with the natural environment rather than allow the unsustainable abuse of it, enabling kinder generations to prosper by looking to create better breeding grounds.”

— Lena C. Emery

Grey clouds are floating like gentle giants above Nakanojõ.

The hurried rain falls, sending tiny rivers down the window of the main room, each drop eager to sink into the warm soil. They say that after the fiery heat in August it is the heavenly spirits descending in their clear blue cloaks to rest in the green land.

I step outside, welcomed by the enthusiastic trills of the mozu as he greets the sun rising above the tip of Tanigawa mountain. The village still asleep, I follow the footpath, leading me high into the grove. The moist air sticks to my body as if to remind me of my own physical presence.

A carpet of rising pines lies tranquil atop the rolling hills. I step over an uprooted sugi and softly whisper: “Old pine”, pressing my cheek firmly onto its moss-covered trunk, “may you have had a long journey of life and may the kodama continue to live on in all that is around you ...”.

As its long needles stir in the morning breeze, I wonder: did the wind make the tree’s branches grow bent? And if so, isn’t the wind one with its bark? And am I, whose naked arms have brushed it in passing, aren’t I too part of the forest’s echo?

I look out over the undulating hills. In the far distance, an empty pocket of barren soil sits amidst the climbing trees. The songs of the meijiro seem long forgotten in the skies above. All that is left are the remnants of naked trunks, standing rigid and forced like gravestones.

Was it at the hands of an invisible season that the trees decided to no longer grow here? Did the rains, winter, sun and moon conspire against the forest? Was it the winds that blew just long enough to leave behind but their hollow echoes drifting across the plains?

Surrounded by the verdant swathes of pine, I fill my lungs with its damp-scented shade. A final stream of serenity, before the binding darkness overturns the sun as it slides below the horizon. A kousagi appears only for a moment and then quickly hushes into the night. Does it know the guardians of the woods? Perhaps if only I had called after it in time, it could have warned the spirits, it could have pleaded with the kisetsu?

Instead, I stand silent and motionless; my mind burned by a vision of a forest that once stood so tall and then was gone.


Short story “A Forest’s Soul and its Echo”
from “Yuka & The Forest”,

— written by Lena C. Emery

Photography
Lena C. Emery