The morning mist is clearing and the relentless rain has finally stopped, at least for now anyway. The wind is strong and cold, 10°C feels like 4°C according to my weather app, feels colder to me. I put on my hat, scarf, and even gloves, I grab my bag and head down to the beach.
It’s Monday 19th October 2026, 10:36 am, the tide is going out, at least I think it is, it’s hard to tell and the predictions are always wrong.
I have arrived at Mappleton beach where I have been returning to over the last six months and I’m here to return something…
As modern civilisation ‘advances’, I’m becoming increasingly aware of the growing disconnect between humans and the non-human world. Reflecting on my research and journal entries from my fieldwork experience over the past year, I interrogate the question: Can engaging with landscape through art (as fieldwork) encourage a renewed sense of connection to the non-human world?
Living in the bustling city of London, which I generally adore, I sometimes get this strong urge to escape to the great outdoors. As humans, we’re naturally drawn to nature, but why is this? I believe it’s not just because of our deep routed connection from way back when – when our ancestors learned everything they needed to know in order to survive, but it’s also because we crave a slower pace of life. With this slower pace, we have time to notice our surroundings and appreciate them. Something lacking in my everyday life.
Over the past year, I’ve been using my art practice as a way to slow down. I have been exploring Mappleton’s fragile landscape in search of a deeper connection between myself and the non-human world. I have always been interested in landscapes and in particular water and rock formations. I am fascinated with how the water shaped the land and continues to do so. I’ve always been a bit of a wanderer, exploring new places and taking pictures to fuel my creativity. But this year I embarked on a different journey, my first proper fieldwork expedition. Not quite the same sort of expedition as Alexander von Humboldt (we’ll get to him later), I was only going as far as East Yorkshire, but I was going on a quest of discovery and this felt like a true adventure.
I first became interested in the East Yorkshire coastal area after learning of its rapidly changing landscape. Unlike most geological changes that happen over billions of years, here the soft boulder clay that makes up the coastline is eroding, with changes visible after each tide. According to evidence submitted by the East Riding of Yorkshire Council (2025 para.1.2) there are ‘average erosion rates of up to 4.5m per year and individual losses of over 20 metres.’
Witnessing this change with my own eyes has made me reflect on just how fragile the Earth really is. Even the land which I had seen as solid, can be washed away with the power of the sea.
Human relationship with the non-human world
Our distant ancestors lived as hunter-gatherers. Their survival depended on their intricate knowledge of the natural world. Before the Enlightenment in the 19th century, nature could be understood as spiritual and sometimes described through mythical stories. These myths, as well as containing make-believe creatures, also held some truths in the stories they tell.
In the book ‘The Invention of Nature’ by Andrea Wulf, he tells the story of Alexander von Humboldt – naturalist, explorer, and one of the first to view nature as a single, interconnected global system rather than isolated parts. Wulf wrote, ‘with Western societies seemingly striding forward along a trajectory of confidence and improvement. With progress as the century’s watchword, every generation envied the next. No one worried that nature itself might be destroyed.’ (Wulf, 2016, p,17) There was no fear back then and not enough care today, even though we know the destruction we continue to cause. Humboldt was also among the first to predict human-induced climate change. ‘Humankind, he warned, had the power to destroy the environment, and the consequences could be catastrophic.’ (Wulf, 2016, p,60) It seems these early warnings went ignored then and continue to today. People are more interested in ‘progress’ for today than ‘preservation’ for the future of the human race. For example the urgent need for more data centres to keep up with growing demand could mean rushed planning with lack of consideration for the environment. Modern civilisation has found a way to control nature and destroy it, leaving the relationship between humans and nature, if there even is one, pretty one-sided, with humans at the very top of the benefiting side.
I believe re-establishing a relationship with nature is essential to restore balance. I share this belief with many others, including Tanya Kovats, who says ‘our relationship with nature is one of the most important relationships we make and yet it’s broken, we see ourselves as separated and apart from nature.’ Kovats believes that healing this relationship and reconnecting is possible ‘Art can help us navigate our way through this.’ (The Wick Culture 2025. Para. 3)
Art is a powerful way to share messages and using it in an introductory, accessible way can be a great way to start that conversation between person and nature. Like Becky Little who ran a workshop for people to make their own dorodango, no experience required. This could be the first time someone has held earth in their hand for a prolonged period of time – an instant connection to nature which could spark further interest.
In ‘The Return to Nature and Culture: A Lecture and Discussion with Tim Ingold’ he talks about hope for the future and suggests it relies on ‘relearning how to coexist not just with fellow human beings but with other creatures as well…’ (Ingold, 2026, 33:30) He says to do this we must first rediscover the meaning of the words nature and culture.
Nature : Latin word natura, which literally means ‘birth
Culture : Latin word cultura, which comes from the verb colere, meaning ‘to tend,’ ‘to till,’ or ‘to cultivate’ the soil
So if we use their original meanings – while nature gives birth to new life, culture nurtures this life, allowing it to grow and flourish. (Ingold, 2026) In other words we need to learn to care for the life that is born – we need to look back to move forward.
Fieldwork and its impact
Fieldwork can take many forms, and I think it’s important to be open to all possibilities. Before starting fieldwork, I believe the most important thing you need is a sense of curiosity. The rest will follow.
In the book ‘Fieldwork for Future Ecologies’, Kirsten Sharp writes an entry called ‘Open Fields: Fieldwork as a Creative Process’. Sharp says ‘Fieldwork involves a conceptual and imaginative engagement prior to the experience of being in the field’ (Sharp, 2022 p. 67)
This is the curiosity I am talking about. Before my fieldwork on location, I carried out research to understand more about the area, its history and geology. I visited the East Yorkshire Archives to view old maps and documents showing how the coastline has changed over time.
Coastal erosion is not a new problem for residents. According to East Riding of Yorkshire Council (2025 para. 1.2) ‘Over the last 1000 years, the Holderness cliffs have retreated by around 2km, resulting in the loss of approximately 26 villages.’ Coastal erosion is a natural occurrence but it’s accelerated by human activities such as human caused climate change and sea defences to protect one area only to make another worse.
This ‘pre-fieldwork’ research was the first step in my discoveries. As ‘Beyond every art’ says ‘..substantive place-based work happens when you stop trying to capture the essence of a place and start examining what that place does, how it functions, and what it means to different people under different circumstances.’ (Beyond every art, 2025, para. 7). With my new found knowledge I’m already connecting to the place through my genuine interest in the area. I was especially excited to learn about the boulder clay that makes up the coast, the fascinating journey it had been on to get there, and the rich history it now contains.
‘Fieldwork needs to be considered as something that is not ‘conducted’ but rather ‘experienced’’ Kirsten Sharp quotes Judith Okely in the book ‘Fieldwork for future ecologies. (Sharp, 2022 p. 51)
It’s this experience that I’m interested in.
11.57 am Tuesday 20th October 2026
It’s me, the sea, the fallen clay, and the odd dog walker.
Me and the world.
The clouds part to reveal patches of blue.
The waves are large, I see far into the distance, the horizon looks choppy.
It’s a rough sea out there today.
I’m sitting on a plastic bag on the wet sand, surrounded by small rocks and stones of all shapes and colours. Dotted among them are blobs of rolled-up boulder clay also covered in small stones. I wonder if the stones on the outside were in the clay to begin with or did they get rolled in with the tides, maybe a mixture of both.
Huge slabs of cliff clay have fallen to the ground, some chunks still balanced precariously, ready to collapse at any time.
The Place
I explored the land in various ways, including walking, slow looking, journaling, listening, recording, making onsite, and collecting for further studio exploration.
4.14 pm Tuesday 20th October 2026
I hold a piece of the rolled clay in my hands, firm and heavy, yet with some decent pressure, its form would give way.
I remember back to my first walk on this beach when I stepped on one of these assuming it was firm, and it completely gave way under my foot.
Somehow, I hadn’t imagined it to be so soft. At the time, this was such an exciting new discovery for me. I continued to walk to see if I could find more, which, of course,
I did.
A chance discovery
I let the process guide me and trust that any outcome would reveal itself through one exploration leading to another. Slowly building up a record of place and time, returning to observe change and documenting not only the landscape but my encounter with it. I don’t have a specific physical end goal in mind, which could seem risky since I know I want to share my findings. But my main goal here was to connect with the place and see if I could strengthen my relationship with the non-human world.
2:01 pm Wednesday 21 October 2026
I trace my fingertips over the fallen clay, afraid to venture too close to the cliff as I had witnessed a substantial chunk of earth unexpectedly come crashing to the ground not long before.
With this in mind, I focus my attention on the clay that has already fallen at the base of the cliffs.
There is lots of it, more than on my initial visit but less than on my second, with only a few months between.
I sense the speed of this erosion.
I feel the ground
Exploring the boulder clay on location allowed me to connect to it in its diverse forms. I interrupted its natural cycle (just like us humans like to do) to hold, observe, and make marks with it. And just like that, my short interaction with it makes me part of its history. The clay I collected turned out to be crucial to my work and sparked multiple lines of inquiry and creative outcomes. Even after removing the clay from its original location, my connection to the place remained through it.
‘Touch is so important, and it has a unique reciprocity: when we touch something, it touches us back, and that’s not true of our other senses like looking or listening.’ (Art Lyst, 2021) from an interview with Tania Kovats.
I agree, direct touch provides an instant, powerful connection, and paying closer attention to that connection allows you to notice the sensations of the clay on your skin and not just what the clay feels like to touch, this strengthens the connection between the person and the clay.
However, sometimes, physical contact isn’t an option; for example, you can’t touch the sound of the tides, but can you feel them through active listening?
1:37 pm Wednesday 21 October 2026
I’m sat on the rocks which have been placed here as a sea defence.
I’m listening to sounds of the sea,
the thunderous and constant roar of the waves,
the crashes and the splashes that I both hear and feel.
There’s a sense of a rumble coming from beneath the water.
I hear the immense power and waves smash against the rocks and
I understand why the soft boulder clay doesn’t stand a chance.
I feel a range of contrasting emotions which begin as intense excitement,
a feeling of being alive.
To the realisation of the insignificance of that life compared to the hugeness of the ocean and the rest of the world.
Nothing can withstand the seas relentless fury.
Apart from this rather effective stone wall – for now anyway.
I hear the sea’s power
I wanted to awaken all my senses to experience the place in as many ways as possible. I noticed the difference between listening to what you can hear and listening to what those sounds make you feel. I believe this indirect connection from listening can be just as strong as through direct touch. In a way, perhaps even stronger because of the effort and concentration it requires to get there.
I feel like I have unlocked a new sensory connection, and with this, I gain a little further insight into understanding the ways of the ocean.
I have many creative outcomes from my fieldwork experience and I’m not done exploring them yet, nor am I putting a time limit on when I should be done.
One of these outcomes is the dorodangos – shiny spheres, traditionally made from soil. As Beyond Every Art says ‘Using actual materials from a place rather than just depicting them changes the relationship between work and location…materials carry information about local conditions, processes, and history. They’re evidence rather than representation’ (Beyond Every Art, 2025, para. 34) Using the material from a place changes not only the relationship between work and location but the relationship between the artist and the material used.
As I tend to the rolled clay, this time rolled with my hands and not the tides, I think of the clays history and how I am part of it now. I spend hours of time and patience to make it shine.
From this process, I have a new sense of respect for the earth. I realise this sort of care and attention I gave the clay here is the care the earth deserves always.
10:40 am Thursday 22 October 2026
The tide is well on its way in, after having walked a stretch of the beach to see the building remains which had fallen into the sea,
I sit once more.
This time with my ‘precious’ spheres laid out in front of me.
I get them out of a box I had them safely packed in, one by one,
I hold each one, closing my hand around them,
noticing how cold they felt.
Why did I expect them to be warm?
As if they were alive?
I have become rather attached to these little clay spheres,
I can’t help but give them each a final little polish.
I contemplate their journey, from their unknown beginning to now. I wonder how far the clay has travelled by glacier,
where it has passed through before ending up here for the last 20,000 years.
Only a few years ago the sea would have been meters away from contact.
Now, after my brief intervention, they are back to continue their journey…
The passing of time
In Becky Little and Tom Morton’s installation ‘River of Earth’ at Earth Matters, Edinburgh, they show chunks of eroded earth breaking down, leading to a dorodango. The use of the river analogy is a great way to illustrate the earth’s fluid movements. I believe my work tells a similar story but my dorodangos are out in the wild and at a different stage of their never ending circle of life. I leave them on the cliffs to become fluid once more.
‘Beyond Every Art’ (2025) discusses how place-based art goes beyond sentimental connection, focusing on understanding relationships and processes within a location without adding emotional weight to overshadow critical attention to the place.
Whilst sentimental connection is not my only focus, I would argue it does has value in place-based art. My sentiments are not from a historical relationship with this place, instead, through my fieldwork I have built a sentimental connection with the land, which after all was my intention. I hope that this care and connection can be communicated through my work.
1:50 pm Thursday 22 October 2026
It took me to the last day of my four day visit until I was ready to say goodbye, but as I write this I already can’t wait to discover more and see where seeking connections will take me next.
I’m back again sitting on the sea defence rocks watching the tide come in. Forecast high tide is 15.25 but most of the beach is already cut off now. There’s a light breeze, but the sea is perhaps the calmest I’ve seen it yet, the waves are gently lapping their way in rather than crashing into the shore.
So I have said goodbye to the Dorodangos,
the Earth that taught me so much.
Placed amongst the cliffs they came from.
Where will this fluid land end up next?
The cycle of Earth
Conclusion
For me, fieldwork is a never-ending process that continuously unfolds, each experience and investigation informing the next. My understanding of the land came from my continued engagement with it, seeking multi-sensory ways to discover it from all angles. This is what enabled me to build a relationship with place and in turn, a deeper connection to the non-human world. This writing and any of my physical creative work is a result of this collective experience.
I hope that my work encourages people to want to slow down and take time to explore. If my work interests people enough to spark their own curiosity to want to learn, just like I did, I would be very happy.
I believe it is possible to connect with nature and you don’t need to go on a field trip to do so, although you could. I urge people interested to choose just one thing in nature that interests you and spend time with it. Hold it if you can, hear it if you can, watch how it changes over time and interacts with its surroundings. All you need is curiosity.
Ingold describes how language begins not with speaking but with listening, and this includes listening not just to humans but other creatures and natural phenomena. ‘… the chorus of nature has not been entirely silenced.’ (Ingold, 2026 56:44) ‘By listening to nature, we awaken its voices and are reminded of our interconnectedness with the world… like any language, it’s difficult to learn if you’re not brought up with it.’ (Ingold, 2026, 51:32)
I feel like I am learning this language for the first time and I can’t wait to see where it will take me next.
References
Art Lyst,(2021),Tania Kovats: Artist Interview of the Month November 2021 – Paul Carey-KentAvailable at: https://artlyst.com/tania-kovats-artist-interview-of-the-month-november-2021-paul-carey-kent/ (Accessed: 02/11/2026)
Beyond every art (2025), Making Art About Places Without Sentimentality, Available at: https://www.beyondeveryart.com/place-based-art/ (Accessed: 02/11/2026)
Crone. B, Nightingale S. and Stanton P. (2022). Fieldwork for future ecologies: radical practice for art and art-based research. [Eindhoven]: Onomatopee.
East Riding of Yorkshire Council (2025), Written evidence submitted by the East Riding of Yorkshire Council (CWR0039), Available at: https://committees.parliament.uk/writtenevidence/149771/pdf/, (Accessed: 02/11/2026)
Royal botanic Garden Edinburgh, (2026), Earth Matters, Available at: https://www.rbge.org.uk/whats-on/earth-matters/65719/, (Accessed: 02/11/2026)
Ingold, T (2026), The Return to Nature and Culture: A Lecture and Discussion with Tim Ingold, Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RC1kiyLGitg, (Accessed: 02/11/2026)
Roser, M. (2023) Emerging Technologies, Available at: https://www.weforum.org/stories/emerging-technologies/this-timeline-charts-the-fast-pace-of-tech-transformation-across-centuries (Accessed: 02/11/2026).
Watts, A ( Libquotes Alan Watts – The Way of Zen (1957) Available at: https://libquotes.com/alan-watts/works/the-way-of-zen (Accessed: 02/11/2026)
Wulf. A, . (2016). The invention of nature: the adventures of Alexander von Humboldt, the lost hero of science. London: John Murray.
The Wick Culture (2025), Spotlight Tania Kovats, Available at: https://thewickculture.com/the-wick-list-spotlight-tania-kovats/ (Accessed: 02/11/2026)
Rebearth (no date) About, Available at: https://www.rebearth.co.uk/about (Accessed: 02/11/2026)
Images
- Eroding cliff of Mappleton, digital photography, Nicki Massos, May 2026
- Wind turbines and sea defence wall, Mappleton, Digital photography, Nick Massos, October 2026
- Rolled up balls of clay, Mappleton – digital photography, Nicki Massos, May 2026
- Eroding cliff, Mappleton – digital photography, Nicki Massos, April 2026
- Holding fallen clay, Mappleton – digital photography, Nicki Massos, October 2026
- Recently fallen, Mappleton – digital photography, Nicki Massos, October 2026
- Rough sea, Mappleton – digital photography, Nicki Massos, October 2026
- Dorodango process photos, Nicki Massos – June 2026
- Dorodangos on stones, Mappleton, digital photography, Nicki Massos, October 2026
- Dorodangos placed within the Mappleton cliffs, Digital photography, Nicki Massos, October 2026
- View from Mappleton carpark, digital photography, Nicki Massos, October 2026
About the author
Nicki Massos is a London based artist whose work explores themes of time, place, and the environment. Her site-responsive works involve printmaking, installation, film, photography, and fieldwork. Nicki studied MA Fine Art: Printmaking at Camberwell College of Arts from 2025-2026. Follow her work at: @nickimassosart