The forest began growing 11,000 years ago as the ice age permafrost retreated north. In the 14th Century, the Lithuanian King Wladyslaw II made the entire forest his private hunting ground. Local Forest rangers or ‘Osocznicy’ maintained this protection on behalf of kings till the early 20th Century. German occupation during World War I saw 25% of the forest trees removed as part of the war effort, yet an intervention by the German naturalist Hugo Conventz convinced the authorities to protect a 3000 hectare fragment of the forest. This fragment became the precursor to today’s strict reserve. This protection was extended throughout Nazi and Soviet occupation and confirmed by an independent Polish state in 1989. Currently, only 4-5% of all Poland's forests are national parks or reserves (less than 1% are strictly protected). Greenpeace is campaigning to expand the size of its reserves and maintain a biosphere akin to the forests that once dominated the European plains.
When I first heard of a place described as Europes ‘Last Primeval Forest’, my photographer's eyes lit up. When reports were published in 2016 that Poland’s new government would triple its quote of wood from the forest, I felt compelled to record and share its beauty and highlighting its existential threat.
Describing the forest as ’primeval’ is no overstatement. As you walk through the steadily thickening forest, you feel the clock turning backwards in time. Your senses are bombarded with a cacophony of bird song, humming insects and the rich, sweet smell of innumerable plants and peaty soil. Giant lizards roaming through this habit would not feel unfamiliar. I would not hesitate to describe it as a jungle, Europe's jungle. Its infinite, untamed, beautiful chaos is intoxicating, my camera became a tool to record what my eyes could no longer register.
Beyond the borders of the protected zone, logging is commonplace. When the harvesters move on, these stacks of lumber are left behind like memorials to their former splendour, their bark and wood camouflaging the memory of countless species that once called it home.
I set out to make images that addressed an internal dialogue about our dual relationship with nature. Whilst we campaign to preserve its beauty and utilise it for leisure, we also trade its value as a commodity, all the while our insatiable demand for its raw materials grows. Wood is a wonder material and managed properly, is the most sustainable and carbon-light form of construction. Witnessing and recording its source, I hoped it might inform how we consume, allowing us pause to consider our individual effects on habitats close to home.
It was volunteers from Greenpeace and other NGOs that tied themselves to tree harvesters. It was their reports that informed the European Commission about the deforestation of Bialowieza, focusing the eyes of the world on the greed that threatened a tiny pocket of irreplaceable nature in an otherwise blighted continent.
These windows in time show us what is possible without the intervention or manipulation of mankind. When the threat of conflict grows, building walls do little to improve our security and only weakens the natural systems we are dependent on. I hope these works can stand as a constant reminder of the earth's potential for beauty. The work is dedicated to all the volunteers around the world who devote their lives to preserving all life on our earth.
