Šuma šumi ... a meditative attempt with forest sounds while being with. a kind of  sensing the singular tones within ...

by: capaholiczsfx-forest-daytime-446356.mp3

SilviArt

SilviArt: with Forest – An embodied, relational practice of knowledge

Regarding the term:

Based on the concept of "silviculture" (from Latin silva "forest" and cultura "care/cultivation" = silviculture)-

the science and practice of establishing, maintaining, raising and rejuvenating forest stands,

Here I describe my perception of the forest.as Place of togetherness,

with which I can imaginatively, as well as "in the thick of it", explore my curiosity again and again,

I discover, visit, and think about the forest in many places...

SilviArt This is not intended as a derivation of individual theories,

but as a dialogical movement through a network of thought landscapes.

The forest appears in the SilviArt not only as an ecological system in the sense of silviculture,

but at the same time as an imaginative and existential space of being.

As an ecosystem, the forest is characterized by complex relationships of growth, circulation, and regeneration; as a space for experience, it opens up a dense sensory matrix of moss, needles, treetops, rain, cicadas, and fleeting phenomena like fireflies. This dual structure—material and imaginary—forms the basis of an aesthetic practice that does not represent, but participates.

Starting from a subjective location – the forest as a childhood space, as a place of walking with the grandfather,

of hiding and finding – becomes forest through understood their hospitality.

In this perspective, the forest becomes a "great lung" that not only produces oxygen but also enables shared breathing. This connects to Luce Irigaray's philosophy of breath, which understands breathing as an ethical and relational practice: a being-with that doesn't possess but opens up spaces in between.

This access to the forest is situated within a biographical context.

In my early childhood, I spent a lot of time in the forest, together with my grandfather Jefto.

The forest was for me a source of strength, a sanctuary and an intense sensory experience all at once.

I came to know it as a place that gives—fruits, air, materials—and at the same time demands mindfulness.

This dual experience of gift and limitation forms the basis of my understanding of SilviArt:

A forest is not something to be owned, but a space that one approaches as a guest.

The forest is a space of intense sensory and relational experience.

Together with my grandfather Jefto, I moved through a tapestry of sounds, smells, and materials that could not be reduced to visual perception. We collected wood, from which he crafted instruments, furniture, and toys—a tamburitza, flutes, small chairs, benches, and my swing.

This practice was not only significant from a technical standpoint, but also epistemologically: it conveyed an understanding of materiality that was based on transformation rather than appropriation.

Equally formative was the gathering of blackberries and wild strawberries,

Counting the tree rings on the trunks—the “gods”—and repeatedly marveling at the complexity of this space.

The experience of the ground was of particular importance. The forest floor was soft, uneven, and crisscrossed with tree roots. Walking required attention, adaptation, sometimes a jump, sometimes a cautious feel. In this movement, a knowledge arose that was not abstract, but anchored in the body. Perception did not occur through detached observation, but through the act of movement itself.

The atmosphere of the forest also shaped this experience: the scent of moss, resin, blossoms, and berries after the rain, the rustling of leaves in the wind, the chirping of birds that structured the day, and the fireflies that marked the path in the darkness. In such moments, a form of resonance arose in which body and environment mutually influenced each other.

These biographical experiences form the basis of SilviArt. They show that knowledge arises not only cognitively, but also bodily, sensually, and relationally.

The SilviArt This engages in dialogue with philosophical positions that understand the subject not as an autonomous entity, but as relationally embedded. Philosopher Luce Irigaray describes breathing as a fundamental form of sharing—an exchange between inside and outside that makes subjectivity possible in the first place.

Breathing here becomes a model for a way of thinking that does not isolate itself, but rather engages in relationships.

Ecological research shows that forests are organized as complex networks.

In The Hidden Life of Trees It describes how trees communicate with each other and share resources via root systems and fungal networks.

The forest appears here as a social structure in which cooperation plays a central role.

For SilviArt, this means that the forest is to be understood not as a background, but as an active participant.

Art becomes a practice that inscribes itself into this network and simultaneously makes it perceptible.

A key element of SilviArt is the expansion of the concept of perception.

Based on approaches of embodied cognition (cf. g. Lakoff 1987), perception is understood as a process that takes place in movement.

SilviArt articulates an artistic and epistemological position that understands humans not as the center, but as part of a relational structure. The forest thus becomes a space in which perception, movement, and thought intertwine.

The inclusion of the perspective of blind people is essential here. It shows that space is not primarily explored visually, but rather experienced as a tactile-acoustic structure. This perspective leads to an intensification of attention and makes it clear that knowledge arises from the embodied relationship to the world.

The works of Friedensreich Hundertwasser provide an important reference for SilviArt.

Its “obstacles to beauty”, especially the uneven ground, interrupt automated movements and create heightened perception.

In the forest, this principle becomes directly tangible. Tree roots, moss, and uneven surfaces create a situation where every step must be taken consciously. Understanding here arises not from an overview, but from mindful action.

Ecological urgency: crisis and responsibility

SilviArt is not only aesthetically motivated, but also responds to a specific ecological situation.

The increase in forest fires, particularly in Europe, is a complex phenomenon primarily caused by a combination of climate change, human behavior, and altered land use.

Loud Greenpeace, over 90% of forest fires in the EU are caused by human actions.

According to the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, climate change is clearly man-made.

At the same time, the Food and Agriculture Organization documents a continuing loss of forest areas worldwide.

These developments are closely linked to economic structures. Global industries generate profits through the use of natural resources, while ecological costs are externalized.

Reports from the International Energy Agency also show that fossil fuel energy systems continue to be heavily subsidized.

The ecological crisis is therefore not only an environmental problem, but also a problem of perception and relationship. Nature often appears as a resource, not as a relational structure.

In light of the ongoing destruction of forests – particularly through fires, logging and other human interventions – a central question arises:

How can we rethink and consciously shape our relationship with nature?

SilviArt sums up this idea perfectly:

"Could sensory perception promote greater mindfulness?"

By experiencing nature not just as a resource, but with all our senses, a deeper connection is created.

This conscious awareness can be the key to developing responsibility and acting more sustainably.

The ecological crisis requires not only new technologies, but also new ways of perceiving.

SilviArt sees itself as a contribution to this transformation—as a practice of being together that integrates people into a living, breathing network...

I learned that time doesn't pass, but rather inscribes itself, layer by layer.

When it rained, we sought shelter under the treetops, which stretched over us like a roof.

After that, the air was filled with a dense, vibrant fragrance—moss, blossoms, resin, berries—and I breathed it in as if it were transforming me. The forest didn't speak in words, but in rhythms: in the chirping of birds that heralded the day, in the subtle shifts in sounds as night fell, in the appearance of fireflies that danced in the darkness and guided our way. Even the rustling of leaves in the wind became a language that I listened to together with my grandfather.

I particularly remember the ground. It was soft, uneven, crisscrossed with tree roots,

which stretched across the earth like traces of bygone eras. Not a single step was a given.

One had to jump, dodge, feel, and pause. In this movement, I began to understand that perception lies not only in seeing, but also in walking, in feeling, and in balance.

The uneven ground demanded attention and at the same time gave something back: a more intense form of existence.

I breathed with the moss, listened to the wind in the leaves, smelled resin and sweet fruit. I lost myself in these impressions and at the same time rediscovered myself. Counting the tree rings made me realize that every trunk carries a story within it, that what is felled does not disappear, but remains as a trace.

The forest thus became a space where past, present and movement merge into one another.

Only in the darkness did I understand the depth of this experience. As sight receded and other senses opened, the forest became a space of connection. Everything came into relationship: sound, breath, ground, body.

In those moments, I was no longer separate from what surrounded me, but a part of it.

I learned to recognize this sense of being present as a "guest." A guest behaves...

So I learned from my grandfather to respect every tiny pine needle on the forest floor, every tree root, little ants, moss, flowers... to make sure that as a guest I do not disturb or destroy anything,

Leave no damage...

My SilviArt emerges from these experiences. It is not an abstract concept, but rather the continuation of a lived relationship with the forest—an attempt to think with it, to breathe with it, and to move in its rhythms. The forest is not merely a motif, but a space.

which simultaneously produces thought, perception, and being.

45.33°N / 17.16°E