Hello, Pine. Nice to see you again in such different circumstances, much more pleasant now. This is the beginning of summer, it's the sixth of June. And yesterday was the first day when it felt a little bit warm. Right at my feet, there are a lot of Veronicas in bloom. And there is some sort of shrub right in front of me, but probably not visible in the image, with white flowers. It could be a hawthorn, I think, but I'm not sure. The big poplar tree behind it doesn't have any leaves yet, though, but otherwise - or perhaps small leaves, small brownish leaves. Otherwise, everything is green. I come to you today because this is the first day that I have a completely free day, free in the sense of no scheduled duties except one meeting with a friend later in the afternoon. And for two weeks now I've been busy gallery sitting in the Telegraph gallery on Harakka Island with exhibition, The Pine Revisited and other video works. And that pine is a pine I performed with on Harakka Island in the southern part of the island for the first time during the year of the dog in 2006 and the beginning of 2007. And I've since revisited once in 2018 and now before the exhibition. So that was my first pine friend. But compared to that pine, you're so much more accessible, but quite a lot younger too. I can sense that there is some, I have forgotten what the name is, the glue like substance, resin probably coming from your stem, so hopefully I didn't hurt you. Maybe it's something else. But it smells nice. There is a lot of motor sounds both from the park maintenance, but also the traffic around. I, well, I thought yesterday that I should discuss the problem of pondering with you because I realized that my daily 'ponderings' with the big pine on the hill are actually not supposed to be with that pine at all, but like more of field notes or diary notes. And the pondering should take place with you. Well, it's hard to maintain such strict divisions. But when I thought about what I could talk with you about today I looked up a beautiful little text that was sent to me by Magdalena Zamorksa, a scholar who visited me last week and also helped in building the exhibition. And she sent a text which was from an online magazine, an extract from a book called The Mind of Plants, where Robin Wall Kimmerer, the botanist and indigenous scholar, who is now very famous, and whose book Braiding Sweetgrass everybody quotes, she writes about white pines, and how they are considered elders,some sort of leaders even by some traditions. But she also very beautifully explained something that Luce Irigaray had said before, that you're not, your way of speaking, or talking is in your being. So you're not saying things, you're doing things. And not only that, because you're doing things with your environment, of course, but you're expressing yourself with your own body. She doesn't use the word express but, the idea that your body is your word, your body is your speech, your body is your statement to the world. And that's, of course, something that traditional performance artists would very much appreciate. I'm not engaged in body art in the traditional sense, or not even in performance art in the traditional sense. I'm recording things for video, or sound, but this idea that your body is your work of art, that's true for you, dear pine. And not only a work of art, but a statement about the place you live in, a statement about the times you've lived, a memoir of sorts, instead of writing memoirs, like human beings, sometimes do. Our bodies are, of course, also our memoirs, they are the traces of our lives. But of course, human lives are more perishable and shorter than the life of a pine tree potentially. And somehow, of course, the classic idea of the tree rings as being the writing of the trees, very exactly recording the circumstances each year. They could probably be expanded to human bones or something like that. She also speaks about intelligence, and how narrow minded it is to think of intelligence being restricted to the human understanding of intelligence. Because living in a specific place, and making decisions about how to grow and which way to grow and where to look for nourishment, and where to look for humidity and where to avoid the wind breaking your branches and so on. There are so many things that you have to be very intelligent for, to just to stay alive for a pine tree. But she also refers to the idea that you don't need a portable brain. So unlike humans, and animals who move about, they need their brain to be easy to carry with them. So they have a centralised brain, often in their head, like we have, although the gut has a lot to say also and the microbes in the gut, as I heard from a seminar recently. But for trees and other plants, such portable brains are not necessary. So you can have a dispersed brain in your root tips, and in your branches and wherever you spread out into the world. And of course, she didn't write about that, but I started to think about this human obsession with portability, because not only is our brain portable, we want our computers to be portable, our phones to be portable, our cameras to be portable, sometimes our homes to be portable as tents or as cars, it's a kind of portable home, too. Everything should be able to move with us. And there is something very funny and absurd about that, but that's probably a development of the way our bodies have developed. So I wonder what, yeah, what would be the pine way; everything should be possible to expand in all directions, probably or sort of maximum democracy in a way, because every branch is further divided into smaller branches and they make their own decisions about what to do and how to grow and which way to move. It's now very tangible because there are the new shoots, and the new cones or, they're not flowers, but cones-to-be, light, yellow-greenish, and the ones that I see right in front of me are bent in weird ways in all directions. I guess it takes quite a lot of energy for you to produce all these new cones. I am tempted to call them flowers, but I know that coniferous trees don't have flowers, that flowers are a much later invention. I should read more about pines, I always say that .I've found now a book that I have at home and can keep until August, which is called The Ecology and Biogeography of Pinus. And that is the whole family of pine trees. The pine trees that Robin Wall Kimmerer writes about are white pines. And they are not the same as you, that is, your English name is a Scots pine. But I think it's funny to call you Scots pine here, so we call you just pine or 'Mänty' or 'Honka', or 'Petäjä', although 'Honka' and 'Petäjä' would maybe not be used for you because they would be like tall pines. And you're a reclining pine. Well, what else could I tell you? Or what else could I ask you? What do you think about all the small ants that are climbing on your bark? Your bark here is quite soft and reddish and resembles the bark of pine trees high up near the crown. Whereas the part of the bark that I normally come in contact with is much thicker and sort of covered with more dead stuff, I assume. But yeah, we discussed a lot about plant ethics with Magdalena, because that's her topic of interest. And I realized that I haven't devoted much thought to that. Except that somehow it's important to have some guidelines, of course, so I try not to hurt you as my collaborator, and I try to somehow respect your specific relationship to place so that's why I come to you here. And I would like to respect your specific relationship to time, but that is somehow very difficult for me to understand. So I'm not really sure what your relationship to time is. You certainly live according to the seasonal cycles but are you so slow as human beings try to or tend to think that all trees would be? Or is it just that your reactions are not visible or audible or sensible to me immediately because they're mainly chemical in nature? Stupid to sit here and ponder about such things when they are things that I could go and just read. And now the wind is here, uh. It's probably hitting the microphone, and it makes your branches swing slightly. Perhaps I should take the wind, the gusts of wind as a sign that I should leave you alone now. And thank you again for this moment. Hope to see you soon again, at least in a month or so, if not earlier. So enjoy the summer and the abundance of light and warmth. Thank you and bye bye.