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How to Describe a Forest Setting…Vividly

oak tree and sky - how to describe a forest setting

You might need to know how to describe a forest setting

if you’re writing a fantasy novel…or if you just happen to have a scene that takes place in the woods. I’ve pulled together this post of forest words and phrases, forest sounds, and forest adjectives.

Forest Words and Phrases

Specific images, sounds, and smells will make your description more vivid and make your reader feel like they’re really there. I should note that haven’t really focused on rainforests for this post, though I might do one on rainforests and jungles later.

I’m not going to name all the trees and plants, obviously! However, I’ll start out with some of the most common ones in the woods in the United States.

sweetgum trees

wildflowers, such as trillium (Midwestern and Eastern United States), lupine, violets, bluebells (Eastern North America), columbines, black cohosh, and jack in the pulpit

in sunny spots: clover, dandelions, Queen Anne’s lace, asters, goldenrod

poison oak

toadstools and mushrooms

cattails (near water)

wild blackberries and raspberries

wild ginger

moss—often on logs or rocks

sunlight filtering through trees

smooth bark, like on birch and beech trees

carpets of dried leaves or pine needles

winding path

trees casting long shadows

distant trees cloaked in mist

gnarled and twisted branches

the branches at the tops of tall trees touching above you

thicket

stone outcropping

charred tree trunks from a wildfire

the moon and/or lots of bright stars above at night

thin branches of saplings and shrubs blocking the path

spiderwebs…sometimes beaded with rain

acorns and acorn caps

buckeyes, from buckeye trees

spiky dried sweetgum fruits

fallen trees

butterflies

deer—fawn, doe, and/or buck

animal tracks

human footprints

litter—discarded water bottles, beer cans

the cooler temperature in the deep woods

insect bites—mosquitoes, biting flies, spiders, chiggers, ticks

thorny branches snagging a hiker’s ankle, calf, or arm

snow-covered branches

By the way, because lists like this can make writing so much easier…

I’ve pulled together a book called Master Lists for Writers . So many authors use it to stay inspired, write faster, and write more. Check it out!

Now let’s move on to…

Master Lists for Writers book Bryn Donovan

Forest Sounds

chirping birds

trilling birds, like a wood thrush

warbling birds— many birds that do this are called warblers

chattering birds

tapping of a woodpecker

hooting owls

screeching red-tailed hawks

cawing and croaking crows

flapping of bat wings

hum of junebug wings

buzz of mosquitos

chirping crickets

croaking frogs

coyote or wolf howl

squirrels running across branches

wind rustling through leaves and/or pine needles

babbling or rushing of a nearby stream or creek

rumbling thunder

cracks of lightning

raindrops falling on leaves

snapping of a twig underfoot

squelching sound of feet in mud

zipping/unzipping of a tent flap

the hush of the woods after snow

icicles dripping during a thaw

Forest Smells

rotting wood

decaying leaves

fresh green leaves

sugary smell of maple leaves in the fall

fresh pine needles and pine resin

campfire smoke

Forest Adjectives

uninhabited

undisturbed

cathedral-like

sanctuary-like

flourishing

golden

Do you know any good examples of how to describe a forest?

Do you enjoy describing settings, or is it something go back and do after a first draft? Let us know in the comments! Thanks for reading, and have a great week!

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Writer In A Hat

Julia h dixon, author of speculative fiction..

How To Describe Trees, Forests & Woodland In Fiction Writing

Good writing has a range of vocabulary. A single word can make all the difference to the tone and meaning of a sentence. There are times when I struggle to find the correct terminology, so I have decided to create word masterlists – helping me and you to write precisely. View the archive of vocabulary masterlists here. Or see any of the following:

How To Describe Fields, Grassland And Meadows In Fiction Writing
How To Describe Marshes, Swamps and Bogs In Fiction Writing

Little known fact about me: I’m something of a conservationist. I have a degree in conservation and since 2016 I’ve worked with the Wildlife Trust, the UK’s leading conservation and nature recovery charity. Nature is vast and complicated and there is no way of fitting all the possible terminology onto one list. For this reason, in this post I will be solely focusing on words for trees, forests and woodlands and the features therein, and will largely be focused on UK and European woodlands, though I’m sure a lot of this can be applied elsewhere. This is also not an exhaustive list of everything in a forest, but is a jumping off point for myself and for you to use. With that said, I hope you find this helpful.

Remember: Not all of these words are interchangeble! Read the definitions carefully to make sure you are using the words correctly.

Words for A Group Of Trees

Word	Definition
Forest	A large area covered chiefly with trees and undergrowth.
Wood/Woods	An area of land, smaller than a forest, that is covered with growing trees.
Grove	A small wood: a group of trees without underbrush.
Orchard	A piece of enclosed land planted with fruit trees.
Thickett	A group of bushes or trees.
Coppice	An area of woodland in which the trees or shrubs are periodically cut back to ground level to stimulate growth and provide firewood or timber. “coppices of oak were cultivated” Cut back (a tree or shrub) to ground level periodically to stimulate growth.
Woodlot	A restricted area of woodland usually privately maintained as a source of wood-products such as fuel, posts, and lumber.

From this list, you would have noticed that these terms not only describe a group of trees, but rather the function of that group of trees. AKA “Are those trees managed and why?”

This is something to consider when describing a woodland. If it is managed, don’t only consider why but consider how . Is it grazed by cattle? Is it cut back by human workers? Different management techniques result in different types of habitat, ergo different terminology.

Don’t assume that if a habitat is not artificially managed that it’s simply a wild, untamed mess. Nature has it’s way of shaping the landscape and can appear surprisingly logical even in the harshest of environments. Consider the impact wild animals, natural fires, weather, and competing plants will have on the appearance of the landscape.

The Difference Between Coniferous And Deciduous (And Why It Matters)

Deciduous or broadleaved trees grow their leaves during the spring and lose them during the winter. Coniferous trees grow needles and cones instead of leaves, which don’t shed seasonally.

The reason this matters is because whether your forest is coniferous or deciduous will impact the ecosystem around it. Generally, you’re not going to get a mixed woodland of coniferous trees and deciduous trees. In the UK especially, coniferous forests such as pine forests are specially cultivated for the purpose of growing pine trees, so anything else is out. More to the point, deciduous and coniferous trees prefer different soil types so they won’t grow together. Deciduous trees usually prefer fertile, well-drained soil , whereas coniferous trees grow in acidic, often sandy soil which is lower in fertility because coniferous trees do not drop their leaves and these aren’t rotting down into the soil to provide it with nutrients.

Obviously you shouldn’t go to intense scientific detail about why your fictional forest looks the way it does because that would be pain-stakingly boring. My point is, if you’ve described a scene where a pine tree by an oak tree because you like pine trees and oak trees, maybe reconsider.

Descriptors And Adjectives For Describing Trees

Here’s some adjectives to inspire you to write a compelling description of trees and forests. I’ve paired them with what I associate with coniferous forests and deciduous ones, but these words can easily be used for both in the right circumstances .

Example: Describing a deciduous forest as ‘dry’ and ‘harsh’ tells me that the forest is not in very good condition and is dying. A privately owned coniferous forest will be quiet, but a coniferous woodlot will be noisy and full of workers.

Coniferous	Deciduous
Dry	Waxy
Sharp	Lush
Scratchy	Damp
Lofty	Overgrown
Fragrant	Earthy
Sun-dappled	Blossoming
Sparse	Dense
Silent	Noisy
Ethereal	Bustling
Rough	Sodden
Empty	Shadowy
Sandy	Dark

Remember to keep in mind the time of day and time of year. Here’s a great list of 35 words to describe a forest at different times of day.

Words For Undergrowth

Another major difference between deciduous and coniferous forests is what grows beneath the trees. Due to the low nutrients in the soil around coniferous trees, the forest floor tends to be sparse of bushes and plants. ‘Undergrowth’ is generally a term used when describing deciduous forests, however some of these words can be used for either.

Word	Definition
Underwood	Small trees and shrubs growing beneath taller timber trees.
Undergrowth	A dense growth of shrubs and other plants, especially under trees in woodland.
Underbrush	Shrubs and small trees forming the undergrowth in a forest.
Vegetation	Plants considered collectively, especially those found in a particular area or habitat.
Foliage	Plant leaves collectively.
Verdure	Lush green vegetation, or the fresh green colour of lush vegetation.

What sort of plants are in the undergrowth? All sorts! The easiest way to brainstorm ideas is to think about what your forest needs to sustain itself.

Plants flower. Plants provide food. When describing your natural setting, remember that there are most likely going to be animals living in that setting. And animals need to eat.

But before you put any old flowering bush in your woodland, consider seasonality , location , and the condition of the environment. Is it mushroom season? Are the flowers blooming? Have the berries ripened? All of these questions will depend on what plants are growing in your setting.

Woodlands are my favourite habitat. They’re instinstically beautiful and complex and there’s always more going on inside them than you think. If you found this helpful, be sure to leave a like. I would also reccomend the article below.

Furthur Reading: The Seven Layers Of A Forest.

One thought on “ How To Describe Trees, Forests & Woodland In Fiction Writing ”

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Julia h dixon.

Julia H Dixon wears many hats: She is an author, artist, pop culture nerd and essayist. She has a special love for speculative fiction. Her contemporary sci-fi story "Marched Away" won Northern Life's writing contest and featured in their June/July/August 2024 edition. View all posts by Julia H Dixon

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35 Words to Describe a Forest Well in a Novel

By: Author Hiuyan Lam

Posted on Last updated: October 20, 2023

Categories Vocabulary Boosters

35 Words to Describe a Forest Well in a Novel

A huge part of writing a novel is using the best words to describe various settings to bring your story to life. If you have a scene set in a forest, your words to describe a forest must reflect everything the characters (if any) can see or feel, or should paint a vivid picture of the setting.

But that’s easier said than done, isn’t it? Everyone gets stuck sometimes and finding the best words to describe the simplest of things can take some time.

In this post, we’re going to focus on a popular scene that can be tricky to describe for some: the forest. Here are 35 of the best words to describe a forest well in a novel:

6 words for a forest at night (black forest)

Scenes take place in the forest at night for various reasons. Perhaps you want to create suspense or mystery. A forest at night can also be used to create drama or romance. However, if you don’t have the best words to describe a forest at night, your delivery is sure to fall flat. Here are 6 words to describe a forest at night:

6 words to describe a forest in winter (white forest)

Forests in winter are truly a sight to behold, especially when they are blanketed by a cover of white snow. A white forest may be used to portray purity or light. A white forest may also be used to portray isolation or emptiness. Here are 6 words to describe a forest based on what you wish to portray:

6 words to describe a forest in spring (green forest)

During spring, the forest is at its busiest with creatures roaming about, and plants sprouting their blossoms. It is a period of rebirth and regrowth that may be used to set a specific mood or contrast a less favorable circumstance. Whatever the case may be, here are 6 words to describe a forest in spring:

Photo of greenfields with yellow and red flowers at daytime

20+ of the Best Words to Describe Night in a Story

gray concrete road in between tall green trees

6 words about the Amazon rainforest

The Amazon is the world’s largest rainforest and contains an infinite number of green trees of various shades and sizes. It is also one of the most diverse biomes on the planet. Here are some words to describe a forest that will help you to paint an accurate picture of the Amazon rainforest.

6 words to convey the atmosphere of a mysterious/deep forest

When describing a forest to an audience, you will need words to describe more than just the trees. You also need to pay attention to the atmosphere, especially if it is mysterious or deep. Here are some words to describe a forest based on its atmosphere

5 words for the sounds of a forest

Lastly, using sounds will paint the ultimate picture in your readers’ heads. Here are 5 words to describe a forest based on the sounds one may hear:

25 of the Best Words to Describe a Bad and Toxic Relationship

river between orange leaves body of water forest like

When using these words to describe a forest, ensure they complement the scene you are trying to set, rather than adding a bunch of words to fill the page, otherwise, it may be confusing for your reader. Picture it in your head before finding the appropriate words.

Writing Nestling

How To Describe A Forest In A Story (For Beginners In 2024)

Table of Contents

How To Describe A Forest In A Story

How To Describe A Forest In A Story : In the heart of storytelling, the art of describing a forest transcends mere words; it is a symphony of sensory engagement that beckons readers into a realm of enchantment.

A forest, with its ancient tapestry of towering trees, hidden clearings, and elusive wildlife, holds the potential to be more than just a setting—it can be a character, a catalyst, and a living, breathing entity within the narrative.

Mastering the craft of forest description requires an alchemical blend of vivid imagery, tactile sensations, and the delicate balance of emotions.

Join me on a journey through the literary underbrush as we unravel the secrets of how to paint a forest with words, creating an immersive experience that transports readers into the very heart of nature’s embrace.

Sure, here’s a step-by-step guide on How To Describe A Forest In A Story:

Observation

Begin by observing the forest closely. Take note of its overall appearance , including the types of trees, the density of vegetation, and the presence of any undergrowth.

Sensory Details

Engage the reader’s senses by describing the sights, sounds, smells, and textures of the forest. Use vivid language to create a sensory experience for the reader.

Visual Description

Start with the visual elements of the forest. Describe the towering trees, the dappling sunlight filtering through the canopy, and the play of shadows on the forest floor.

Describe the sounds of the forest, such as the rustling of leaves, the chirping of birds, the buzzing of insects, and the occasional creaking of branches in the wind.

Explore the scents of the forest, including the earthy smell of damp soil, the fragrance of pine needles, the sweetness of wildflowers, and the musky odor of decaying vegetation.

Texture and Touch

Capture the tactile sensations of the forest, such as the rough bark of trees, the softness of moss-covered rocks, and the coolness of shaded pathways.

Emotional Response

Convey the emotional impact of the forest on the characters or narrator. Describe feelings of awe, tranquility, solitude, or unease inspired by the forest environment.

Symbolism and Metaphor

Use the forest as a symbol or metaphor to enhance the thematic depth of your story. Explore concepts like growth, renewal, mystery, or the cycle of life and death.

Character Interaction

Show how characters interact with the forest environment. Describe their movements through the trees, their reactions to its beauty or dangers, and the way they connect with nature.

Overall Atmosphere

Finally, convey the overall atmosphere of the forest. Is it a place of sanctuary and refuge, or does it harbor hidden dangers and mysteries? Use descriptive language to evoke the mood and tone of the forest setting.

By following these steps , you can effectively describe a forest in your story and immerse your readers in its rich and vibrant world.

Setting the Scene

In the enchanting realm of narrative, where words dance like fireflies in the dusk, setting the scene becomes an artistry of captivating strokes and vivid hues.

Imagine a canvas unfurling before your mind’s eye, a tapestry woven with the essence of anticipation and wonder.

As the curtain of imagination rises, the stage is meticulously crafted – a symphony of rustling leaves, a ballet of dappled sunlight filtering through the ancient canopy, and the whispered secrets of the wind weaving through towering trees. Here, time is but a transient spectator, enraptured by the choreography of nature’s opulence.

In this orchestration of sensory delights, the scene is not merely set; it is an invitation to wander, explore, and lose oneself in the immersive tapestry of a world waiting to be discovered.

Establishing the forest as a central element in the story

In the heart of my narrative, the forest emerges as more than just a backdrop; it is a living, breathing character, pulsating with its own heartbeat and secrets.

Its towering trees, ancient sentinels cloaked in emerald hues, whisper tales of forgotten epochs, and its sprawling underbrush teems with the untold stories of flora and fauna.

This sylvan sanctuary serves as the silent witness to the protagonist’s journey, offering solace, challenges, and the veiled wisdom of the wild.

The forest becomes a protagonist in its own right, shaping the narrative with its enigmatic allure and influencing the characters’ destinies.

It is not merely a setting but a realm where the very essence of the story unfolds, a realm where the characters are tested, transformed, and ultimately find a profound connection with the untamed spirit of nature. In this tale, the forest is not just a picturesque backdrop—it is the beating heart that propels the story forward with its mysterious rhythm.

Sensory Imagery

Embarking on the journey of sensory imagery is akin to unlocking a treasure trove of sensations that lie dormant within the pages of a story.

Never struggle with Show-and-Tell again. Activate your free trial or subscribe to view the Setting Thesaurus in its entirety, or visit the Table of Contents to explore unlocked entries.

HELPFUL TIP:

Textures and sensations:, possible sources of conflict:, people commonly found in this setting:, setting notes and tips:, related settings that may tie in with this one:, setting description example:, techniques and devices used:, descriptive effects:.

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WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®

Helping writers become bestselling authors

Setting Thesaurus Entry: Woods at Night

March 5, 2011 by BECCA PUGLISI

There is a forest entry already, but I think that at night the woods can be an entirely different setting, full of mystery and sometimes fear. I figured it deserved its own entry! Notice how other senses are utilized more so than sight–an unusual occurrence.

Dark tree trunks, shadows, overhanging limbs across the path seen at the last second, clumps of bushes, barely visible black trails snaking through the undergrowth, moon shining through a lattice of leaves, patchy sky & stars seen in glimpses through tree breaks, tall shadowed pines stretching up like arrows into the sky, streaks of cloud against the…

Wind slipping through leaves, cracking undergrowth with each step, creaking tree trunks, the flutter of wings unseen, snapping twigs, grass and weed sliding against pant legs, breathing sounds, coyote calls, fox yipping, wolves howling (if within location), snarls, padding feet along a trail, a grunt of pain at catching a root or tripping on dead fall, a rip of…

Rich earth, rotting leaves, pine needles, fresh air, a slight scent of flowers, earthy fungus, tree sap, wild animal musk (if close), possibly the spray of a skunk (if around), green growing things (spring & summer), moss

Sweat on lips, dryness in throat, sometimes a cold metallic tang if lots of stone is present

Cobwebs in face, cold, dewy leaves sliding across skin, slipping on wet leaves and mushrooms, tripping on bumpy roots, stones, dead fall, thorns scratching skin, scrapes and cuts on hands from falling in the dark, pine needles embedded in skin during fall, twisting and jerking at every unfamiliar sound, holding hands out to ward off unseen obstacles like tree…

Helpful hints:

–Think about the conflict that might be present in your setting.

Your character’s emotions will be on high alert at night because their visibility is low, making it a great time to insert conflict. This Conflict Scenario Database is loaded with ideas to help you.

–The words you choose can convey atmosphere and mood.

Example 1: Devin dove behind a wide cedar trunk just off the trail. Heart slamming against his ribs, he gulped at the air, trying to slow his breathing enough to hear. Back in the shadows, branches thrashed and snapped as Valio growled sharp orders to his men. Sunset had finally drained out of the sky overhead, sheathing the woods in shadow. Devin pressed his face against the bark, the ridges biting into his skin, and tried to become one with the tree…

–Similes and metaphors create strong imagery when used sparingly.

Example 1: (Simile) Eileen worked her way along the narrow trail, leaves sliding across her bare forearms like wet tongues…

Becca Puglisi is an international speaker, writing coach, and bestselling author of The Emotion Thesaurus and its sequels. Her books are available in five languages, are sourced by US universities, and are used by novelists, screenwriters, editors, and psychologists around the world. She is passionate about learning and sharing her knowledge with others through her Writers Helping Writers blog and via One Stop For Writers —a powerhouse online library created to help writers elevate their storytelling.

Reader Interactions

May 1, 2020 at 8:45 am

This is my new account! Thanks for all your kind replies! 🙂

March 11, 2020 at 3:32 pm

if anyone could help me with how to describe palaces and castles, please comment me back.

March 11, 2020 at 4:24 pm

HI Kit, You can find information on Castles and other fantasy settings at our site, One Stop for Writers: https://onestopforwriters.com/scene_settings

Happy writing! ~angela

December 27, 2019 at 8:16 am

this has just made me re think and re write my whole stroy thank you this really helps

May 1, 2020 at 8:43 am

happy to help!

P.S. I’m Angela, this is just a new account! 🙂

July 13, 2017 at 2:55 pm

I would take that fear away from you Laura. Having spend my childhood surrounded by woods on the hills and shore of Cayuga Lake I have spent time in the woods alone at night. It is the imagination and the untrained ear that brings fear into the equation. Shadows unseen during the day become magical at night. All the nocturnal animals want nothing to do with you.

May 1, 2020 at 8:44 am

Thank you so much for your kind reply. Happy to help you always!

December 9, 2011 at 3:17 pm

I do not think I would be walking around the woods at night.

December 6, 2011 at 2:06 pm

Just came across this one and I have to say, it really helped me with a scene I was struggling with. Thank you so much!

March 9, 2011 at 9:15 am

I think the dark tree trunks description sums it up for me. Creepy and suspenseful. This will help me loads in my continued search for publication and getting my story just right.

March 7, 2011 at 1:20 pm

I totally agree, Ralfast. I was just talking about this the other day with my kids, that if they really wanted to see what it would be like at night they would have to go far, far out into the country, beyond all light pollution and population.

March 7, 2011 at 1:15 pm

What makes forest so frightening for the modern viewer/reader is the near total darkness. We are so used to having sources of light 24/7 that our mind panics when we lack it.

March 6, 2011 at 2:41 pm

I love the woods and only a few times have I experienced them at night. It can be a beautiful-creepy feeling.

March 6, 2011 at 1:41 pm

Great–I’m so glad this one helps. So many great stories have night scenes that take place in a forest or wooded area. I think this is a setting that naturally creates tension.

Hope everyone is having a good weekend!

March 6, 2011 at 2:23 am

Ooooh, just thinking about the woods at night gives me the willies. You nailed it!

March 5, 2011 at 8:23 pm

Very timely. Might be needing this for my wip!Thanks!

March 5, 2011 at 7:31 pm

Loved this post! I just recently started reading this blog, and it has helped me to totally rethink how I’m going to write! Thanks!

March 5, 2011 at 11:25 am

Just wrote a scene involving the woods at night. You are right, they definitely deserve their own entry!

March 5, 2011 at 11:08 am

This totally makes me want to go write a fairy tale. =)

March 5, 2011 at 10:46 am

The woods are lovely dark and deep but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep….

March 5, 2011 at 8:58 am

Walking through the woods at night is definitely different than during the day! I don’t think you could pay me to walk through the woods at night!

[…] Does your setting take place at night? Check out this similar Entry: WOODS AT NIGHT […]

[…] beautiful Brothers Grimm-inspired gallery of forest photographs. And if you get stuck, check out Writing Helping Writers’ “Forest Thesaurus” for even more […]

[…] hushed voices and whispers, muffled footsteps, your own heartbeat. Also, see the setting entry Woods at Night. EMOTIONAL TRIGGERS: Mood: Falling stars happen so quickly; to catch sight of one makes the […]

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How to Describe Forests in Your Writing

Pin or save this post for reference next time you're writing a forest. You can pull from these sights, sounds, smells, tastes and touch sensations to add texture to your forest descriptions.

Wildflowers
Hunting traps
Animal tracks
Dens/burrows
Birds nests
Abandoned campfire
Hollowed-out trees
Rising mist
Bracket fungi
Acorn shells
Fallen logs
Gnarled branches
Tree stumps
Dewdrops on leaves
Fallen pine needles
Patches of sunlight
Animal footprints
Smoky campfire
Warm, dry earth
Decaying logs
Freshly turned soil
Ripe blackberries
Wild garlic
Decaying fruit
Hot springs / sulphur
Wild rosemary
Rotting leaf pile
Honey of beehive?
Cooked meat (fire)
Resinous pine
Wild strawberries
Wood sorrel
Sweet chestnut
Sun-warmed bark

Rustling leaves
Trickling water
Distant birdsong
Hooting owl
Crunching footfall
Snapping twigs
Buzzing insects
Wind rustling trees
Pattering rain
Hawk screech
Wasp/bee buzzing
Howl of wind
Gurgle of stream
Crisp leaves underfoot
Rustle of birds in nest
Scampering animal
Crackling fire
Gurgling stream
Distant wolf howls
Barking fox
Tart wild berries
Cooked mushrooms
Cold stream water
Hunted animals
Foraged eggs
Smooth stone
Prickly pine needles
Cool breeze
Warm sunlight
Spongy ferns underfoot
Sharp twigs
Velvety petals
Slippery mud
Sharp thorns
Tender grass
Tangled vines
Prickly brambles
Crunching acorns
Gentle raindrops
Bristly pinecones
Snail slime
Jagged, sharp stones

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NigellaStory88 Banned

Woodland forest description.

Discussion in ' Descriptive Development ' started by NigellaStory88 , Dec 20, 2017 .

googletag.cmd.push(function() { googletag.display('funpub_f83bb6d95f116e23299fa51e86c74cfb'); }); How do you describe a woodland forest setting descriptively?

Aled James Taylor Contributor Contributor

googletag.cmd.push(function() { googletag.display('funpub_f83bb6d95f116e23299fa51e86c74cfb'); }); Go to a woodland forest. Write about anything and everything that catches your eye. Include how you feel about those things and what they remind you of. You can branch out into anecdotes form childhood if you like, so long as they're interesting anecdotes. Everyone knows what a forest is so there's no need to be concerned with the obvious.

Teladan Contributor Contributor

googletag.cmd.push(function() { googletag.display('funpub_f83bb6d95f116e23299fa51e86c74cfb'); }); There is a lot to describe here. It depends how technical you want to be as well. Being a student of ecology, I'm likely to talk about things in layers and relationships. Look at the different structures of the woodland. What is the field layer like? The canopy? What age are the trees? Is there a good diversity of species? Do you want to describe things artfully and loosely or do you want to infuse a bit of scientific accuracy in your writing?

Iain Sparrow Banned Contributor

googletag.cmd.push(function() { googletag.display('funpub_f83bb6d95f116e23299fa51e86c74cfb'); }); You describe a wilderness setting in the same way you do a chair. With vivid prose that bring your story to life. Just use your imagination. ... and everywhere the most remarkable trees; giant elms with low sweeping branches, heavy with creeper, some springing to life with curious squirrels rushing and chattering to the three girls walking along the dirt path. Mabel stopped and bent an ear toward a gap in the tree line. “I hear a stream.”

Quanta Senior Member

googletag.cmd.push(function() { googletag.display('funpub_f83bb6d95f116e23299fa51e86c74cfb'); }); If your story is set in the real world, the composition of your woodland or forest will vary depending on the climate, latitude, etc.

GingerCoffee Web Surfer Girl Contributor

googletag.cmd.push(function() { googletag.display('funpub_f83bb6d95f116e23299fa51e86c74cfb'); }); Were it me, I would make a 'woodland forest' file on Pinterest. It helps me to describe something when I look at various versions of what I have in mind.

izzybot (unspecified) Contributor

googletag.cmd.push(function() { googletag.display('funpub_f83bb6d95f116e23299fa51e86c74cfb'); }); What's important about the forest? Is it bright and sunny and full of chirping birds, or oppressively gloomy and filled only with the croaking of toads and whispering of the wind? The setting can be whatever you want it to be - figure out what the scene needs and describe that.

Privateer Senior Member

googletag.cmd.push(function() { googletag.display('funpub_f83bb6d95f116e23299fa51e86c74cfb'); }); Is it primarily a coniferous or deciduous forest? A young wood full of pioneer species or an ancient forest full of mature, towering hardwoods? Temperate or tropical? Highland or lowland? Wet or dry? Forests are complicated and there's plenty of scope.

googletag.cmd.push(function() { googletag.display('funpub_f83bb6d95f116e23299fa51e86c74cfb'); }); This is what I tried to impress in my post. Just out of interest, are you studying ecology/botany or any related field? Privateer said: ↑ Is it primarily a coniferous or deciduous forest? A young wood full of pioneer species or an ancient forest full of mature, towering hardwoods? Temperate or tropical? Highland or lowland? Wet or dry? Forests are complicated and there's plenty of scope. Click to expand...

googletag.cmd.push(function() { googletag.display('funpub_f83bb6d95f116e23299fa51e86c74cfb'); }); No, I'm just outdoorsy and a bit of a nature nerd.

Mckk Member Supporter Contributor

googletag.cmd.push(function() { googletag.display('funpub_f83bb6d95f116e23299fa51e86c74cfb'); }); I usually google images of whatever I'm trying to describe and then stop at one or two images that catch my eye, and then try to describe them instead. Or if it matters very much to you and you are able, go to an actual forest. Another thing to bear in mind is: only describe what your character would notice. Be aware of what you're trying to convey - mood and the context of the scene should feature in your description. As in, you don't wanna describe everything there is to describe. You should highlight details that will serve the purpose of the description, and that purpose should usually be more than just showing what something looks like. I primarily use descriptions to set atmosphere.

Kerbouchard Member

googletag.cmd.push(function() { googletag.display('funpub_f83bb6d95f116e23299fa51e86c74cfb'); }); Figurative language is always good, but be careful not to over use it. Similes and personification provide you with advantages, just don't drown out your writing with them when describing the forest.

googletag.cmd.push(function() { googletag.display('funpub_f83bb6d95f116e23299fa51e86c74cfb'); }); Mckk said: ↑ I usually google images of whatever I'm trying to describe and then stop at one or two images that catch my eye, and then try to describe them instead. Or if it matters very much to you and you are able, go to an actual forest. Another thing to bear in mind is: only describe what your character would notice. Be aware of what you're trying to convey - mood and the context of the scene should feature in your description. As in, you don't wanna describe everything there is to describe. You should highlight details that will serve the purpose of the description, and that purpose should usually be more than just showing what something looks like. I primarily use descriptions to set atmosphere. Click to expand...

jannert Retired Mod Supporter Contributor

googletag.cmd.push(function() { googletag.display('funpub_f83bb6d95f116e23299fa51e86c74cfb'); }); Unless your POV character has a different perspective from somebody who is just walking in the woods, I'd go with @Aled James Taylor 's suggestion. Go to a forest and walk for a while. Once you've started to absorb the atmosphere, then scribble a few observations. Include more than how things look. Include sounds, the feel of ground underfoot, smells, etc. And the feelings evoked by being there. Obviously if your character lives in the forest, or has just encountered a forest for the first time, or is studying something about the forest from an academic point of view, or running through the forest to escape or pursue, or tracking some animal, etc, these factors will also come into play. People will see forests differently, depending upon why they are there. But it doesn't hurt to get a grounding either. Take yourself to one. (You'll enjoy it!)

big soft moose An Admoostrator Admin Staff Supporter Contributor Community Volunteer

googletag.cmd.push(function() { googletag.display('funpub_f83bb6d95f116e23299fa51e86c74cfb'); }); also do you need to describe it at all ... most people know what a woodland is, so if you just mention it and give a couple of hints the reader can fill in the blanks

googletag.cmd.push(function() { googletag.display('funpub_f83bb6d95f116e23299fa51e86c74cfb'); }); big soft moose said: ↑ also do you need to describe it at all ... most people know what a woodland is, so if you just mention it and give a couple of hints the reader can fill in the blanks Click to expand...

Wreybies Thrice Retired Supporter Contributor

googletag.cmd.push(function() { googletag.display('funpub_f83bb6d95f116e23299fa51e86c74cfb'); }); As mentioned earlier by @jannert , remember your POV. My Tevin is worldly and traveled. A woodland forest for him would likely be engaged in practical terms. What's edible, signs of running water, usable timber. Brenn is a sheltered person with little engagement of such a setting. It would be a more emotive, visual, olfactory, textural experience for him.

googletag.cmd.push(function() { googletag.display('funpub_f83bb6d95f116e23299fa51e86c74cfb'); }); Privateer said: ↑ Most people know what their nearest woodland looks like. That might not look anything like the one in the story. How dark and confining a pine forest can be in winter might be a complete unknown to somebody more used to clumps of palm trees. Click to expand...

googletag.cmd.push(function() { googletag.display('funpub_f83bb6d95f116e23299fa51e86c74cfb'); }); thnaks for the replies guys. It's really appreciated.

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Write that Scene

May your writing spirit live on forever

How to Write a Forest Scene

A. write more about the trees and greenery. give the reader insight to the location and the weather..

B. Write about the animals and the life that exist in this Forest. You can even make up your own and/ or it could be humans that live in the forest.

Orangutans spend most of their time in the forest canopy where they feed on leaves, figs and other fruit, bark, nuts, and insects. Large trees of the old-growth forests support woody vines that serve as aerial ladders, enabling the animals to move about, build their nests, and forage for food.
The largest of all primates, the gorilla. Too large and clumsy to move about in the forest canopy, the gorilla lives on the forest floor where it forages for a variety of plant materials.
The jaguar. Its endangered status is the result of hunting and habitat loss.
The Puerto Rican parrot (Amazona vittata), a medium-sized, green bird with blue wing feathers
Below the canopy the waters are filled with fish life. Kelp bass find the middle of the kelp forest to be a good hunting area, while Sheephead, a boldly colored fish, like to feed on the larger invertebrates that live among the kelp stipes and tend to hang out towards the bottom of the forest.
Insects (morpho butterfly, Julia butterfly, Monarch butterfly, and millions of other insects) mammals (jaguar, ocelot, didelphid opossums, sloth, howler monkey, spider monkey, capybara, many bats, marmosets, procyonids, peccaries)
Birds (quetzal, macaw, tinamous, curassows, hoatzins, hummingbirds, eagles, ovenbirds, antbirds, flycatchers, puffbirds, toucans, jacamars, tanagers, tapirs, troupials, honeycreepers, cardinal grosbeaks, xenops) reptiles (anaconda, caiman, iguanas, lizards, microteiid lizards, boas, and coral snakes), amphibians (poison arrow frog, etc.)
Fish (electric eel, piranha), and millions of other animals.Australia – mammals (tree kangaroo, rat kangaroo, yellow-footed Antechinus, Giant White-tailed Uromys, opossums, bandicoot, echidna, duck-billed platypus, sugar glider, red legged pademelon)
Reptiles (frilled lizard, carpet python, Green Tree Snake, Spotted Tree Monitor, Eastern Water Dragon, Boyd’s Forest Dragon, Northern Leaf Tailed Gecko)
Amphibians (Giant Tree frog, Striped marsh frog, Northern Barred frog, Dainty Green Tree frog), and millions of other animals.Southeast Asia –
mammals (tarsiers, orangutans, Siamangs, gibbons, colobine monkeys, tigers, tree shrews, binturong, moonrats, most flying foxes, colugos, bamboo rats, Oriental dormice)
birds (tree swifts, leafbirds, fairy bluebirds, fantails, whistlers, flowerpeckers, wood swallows)
insects (Queen Alexandra’s Birdwing butterfly, Goliath Birdwing butterfly, Saturn Butterfly) to name a few.West Africa –
mammals (antelopes, bonobo, chimpanzee, gorilla, Mandrill, scaly-tailed squirrels, otter shrews, duikers, okapi, hippopotamus, Cercopithecus monkeys, bushbabies, pygmy hippo, duiker)
birds (Congo peafowl, African Gray Parrot) to name a few.

C. Describe how these things have a connection to the story and to the overall plot. Give hint to how they will be a part of the journey.

I. What about the animals and the forest is important to the story and to the character? How are they a vital allie to the trail and the path of the rain forest?

I I. Ultimately how are these things good? Give signs and behavior patterns that will differentiate them from good and evil. Or keep it a mystery to enhance the dynamics of your story.

I I I. Use ideologies, metaphors, and similes to create an experience your character is having. How they connect with the forest atmosphere and the creatures who dwell inside this area.

A. Why is your character there in the first place and how long do they plan on staying? Their journey can all the sudden become extended or shortened by anything.

I. Think of all the things you might find in a dark forest and make them experience it.

Insects in the mouth and eyes
Branches in the face and tearing at clothes
Tripping over roots and rocks
Feet crunching on dirt, snapping twigs
His/her own gasping breath in the silence
Sounds of creatures pursuing him
Howling of wolves in the distance
Owls hooting in the night

I I. Explain their thoughts, the worries, even ultimately telling the reader what’s at stake for the character.

I I I. Do they meet someone along the way? Is there a barrier or path they cannot take or overcome? Or do they find a great shortcut? Is a shortcut even safe?

B. Is there anything out of the usual? Does it become too much for the character to handle to where they will need someone or something to help them? Maybe it’s the animals and life that live in the forest or the forest itself.

I. Is there magic involved? Are there a new philosophies or new rules that doesn’t pertain to our own world, involved? If so, who is controlling this? Does the character have an idea who might be behind these doing?

I I. Does the character actively call out loud for someone or something to help them? Does anyone come to their aid? Is it magical or ordinary? Where has this person or being been all that time? Was this all a test to begin with?

I I I. Must the character return the favor somehow or is it given for free? Does the character somehow speak to this thing or person or are they dumbfounded? Do they just accept what happened or begin to question the place they’re in? Does this mean they’re about to escape or try to at least?

C. Show some relief of the problem or a solution that is at a near distance. Give the reader hope for the character.

I. How are they coping with these sudden changes and surprises? Are they able to take a break at all and stop to get some air from what is going on?

I I. If s/he’s running to vent because she heard something emotionally traumatizing and they’re running away from the impact it has on them, then s/he would be tripping and stumbling not out of fear but out of anxiety to get away.

If s/he’s running through the woods because it’s a pass time and they enjoy it, then you select words and thoughts and structure your sentences to give a peaceful tone (or whatever emotion you’re aiming for).

I I I. What talents skills or abilities does the character have the makes them seem not so hopeless?

A. Show how the forest becomes an aide to the character and/or the character becomes an aide/savior to the forest.

I. Can the animals speak English, can the character all the sudden communicate with the animals, or do they have to find a creative way to speak with each other?

I I. Maybe the trees sway in the wind and gives direction to the character on where to go, what if something randomly falls down as a way to direct the character to a specific path? You can use sound, you can use smell, you can use all the human senses. Be creative.

B. Is there any magic that is in the place? How about the connection between the scenery and the character? How does it strengthen them or how does it weaken them?

I. What type of Magic? Is it something that can be learned? Is it something that can be avoided or counteracted? Does the magic bring anything alive or keeps things dead? Does the magic prevent the forest from doing anything or allows it to do more than what it once could?

I I. Does the character softly walk through the forest to avoid from causing any harm? Does the character do anything weird to the forest such as pray to it or use the trees leaves as clothing? Why are they acting this way?

I I I. How about the forest? Does the forest do anything out of character to gain the character’s interest? Does it offer the character anything?

C. Are there hints in the forest that the character can only see and their enemy cannot? How does the forest communicate with the character? How does the character communicate with the forest?

I. Why can the character see these hints and the enemy cannot? How do they know that these are going to protect them? What has the forest done that makes the character believe it’s okay to to follow unknowingly or even listen to?

I I. How desperate does they forest become? Will they go to great lengths to protect the character? Or will the character go through great lengths to protect the forest? Where does this bond come from and how does it help the character easily flow through the forest?

I I I. Or maybe the forest is silent. Maybe the forest has no magic or is on no one side. If so, how does the character use the forest as they please?

A. Add some drama, some danger, what is breaking… what is causing Mayhem? How is the character mentally handling it and what might be their demise?

I. Give details about the great enemy. What is the character learning thus far? Who are their allies? At what point in their Journey are they at and how close are they to finishing?

I I. Are there any swamps, quicksand, spiders, snakes, or otherwise that wouldn’t necessarily be in another land? How much harder is it to journey through the forest than it is somewhere else?

I I I. Do they get injured, do they somehow make a mistake that they cannot take back? Has the forest abandoned them? Have the animals abandoned them? Have they abandoned themselves and their will to live?

B. If the enemy is directed towards the forest, then how does the forest cope with it and what is it doing to protect itself? How is the character helping to protect the forest if at all?

I. Why is this evil thing having a war with the forest? Does the character understand why? Is it a being? Is it nature? Is it a Mystic being? Is it the forest itself that’s their own enemy?

I I. Do the branches hit and sway? Do the leaves fall down from the branches to the ground as a way of surrender? Do the animals bite, bark growl? Do trees fall down? Do trees move as if they had feet?

C. Put a bit of focus on the enemy; the danger. How do they look? what are they doing? how does it seem for them to be in this Forest? what threats are they saying? what weapons do they have? how many people are on the enemy army? How much more powerful is this threat?

I. How does the face look? How powerful is this evil? How weak are they; what is their weak link? How long has the war/battle been going on?

I I. Where did this enemy come from? How evil are they or do they have some kindness to them? Is it never ending or does it have a downfall? Is it hurting itself by battling the forest or the character? Or is battling the forest or the character making it stronger?

I I I. If the character or the forest is battling themselves, then describe the pain they are inflicting on itself through the eyes of who is watching. How much longer until the end is near? In other words, is it hopeless to help?

A. Is everything complete, is everything at peace, how does the character feel?

I. What are the goodbyes like? What actions do they take to make sure they are thanking the forest and that the forest understands what they’re saying?

I I. How much has the character contributed? Where does the health of the character and the forest lie? Are they both to thank for a good ending? Who’s to blame for a bad ending? Is there any animosity between the character and the forest? Remember, the animals are considered to be part of the forest.

I I I. Is there any gifts exchanged? Are there any songs sang? Is there a promise of return?

B. How about if the threat is still alive? how has the character left the threat or if they decide to stay how are they keeping the threat at bay?

I. Is threat gone away for a while? Is it sure to return? Will the character return before the threat returns but with more weapons or people to battle?

I I. If the character stayed, what are they doing in order to protect the forest? How much do they have to sacrifice to keep the forest in good shape? Is the forest doing anything to thank them or to protect the character in return? Is this a completely selfless act?

I I I. Vice versa. What must the forest do in order to continue to protect the character? How’s the character thanking the forest?

C. Let the reader know who’s in charge, whether it’s the character the forest or the enemy at the end of the scene. Let them know where it should start the next time you begin this scene. If it is finished then make sure you bring out the person you want to bring out on top. But not without consequence; there must be signs of a battle.

I. Who left the battle? Who had the most battle scars? Who showed signs of fear? And how did they show these signs if they weren’t human?

I I. Is there a prophecy? Were there hostile words exchanged? Was there a time when the character or the forest felt like they failed or were about to lose? Is this a false win?

I I I. Is there peace at the end of the scene? Or is there a lot to be desired? What is the last thing that the character remembers about the forest or sees?

!You might have to scroll down the textbox with your mouse!

Coming Soon

3 thoughts on “ How to Write a Forest Scene ”

Glad to hear that!

Thanks so much!

Forest fires are among nature’s greatest spectacles, which means that describing them can pose some challenges. How do you capture their color, heat, and intensity on the page? What words should you use? We’ll give you 27 strong words and synonyms to use when describing a blaze, as well as tips and samples to help you tame that fire and put it into writing.

Things You Should Know

Use strong adjectives to convey the scene, like "blazing" or “scorching.”
Including descriptions of the fire based on the 5 senses can help ground a reader. Describe how the fire and the area around it looks, smells, feels, sounds, and tastes.
Study how other writers write about forest fires to inform your own writing and give you inspiration.

Words to Describe a Forest Fire

You can also compare the forest fire to a place like Hades, a mythical setting that really establishes a vibe for a reader.

Other good words are “conflagration” and “combustion.”

“Searing” is a similar word that conveys the heat and damage a forest fire can do.

Other effective figurative phrases like “ocean of fire” or “wall of flame.”

Try something like “The forest fire devoured everything in its path” brings it to life and makes it more animated, like it has a mind of its own.
Also try describing the fire as “hungry” or “greedy,” to give it a sense of personification and action.

A similar term is “apocalyptic,” which is a strong adjective that offers a sense of doom.

Words like “renewing” or “natural” help to convey a forest fire’s beneficial aspects.

Another idea is to describe the trees or embers as “exploding,” to lend a more violent tone to the scene.

Forest fires also “gleam” or are “blinding.”

For example: “The forest fire’s smoke emitted a smoggy haze over the city that sat downwind of the blaze.”

“The smoke from the fire stifled the fleeing animals and caused them to choke.”

You might also say a fire “glowed” or “churned.”

Tips to Describe Fire in Your Writing

Step 1 Incorporate the 5 senses into your description.

Make a list of adjectives for each of the senses and try to incorporate some of these into your writing to really bring the scene to life.
A fire might look bright or intense.
A forest fire might smell like charred wood, or even just like a campfire.
The area around a forest fire can taste like ash or smoke.
Forest fires roar and crackle, which are great words to describe the sound.
Finally, a forest fire is hot, of course–so hot it can scorch or sear whatever it touches.

Step 2 Tailor the tone and mood of your writing to match the scene.

If you want the fire to come across as scary, try using words like “devouring” or “apocalyptic.”
If you’re trying for a lighter or more optimistic mood, try words like “cleansing” or “renewing.”

Step 3 Write about the effects the fire has on the people and places around it.

Readers make the best writers, because you're learning vocabulary that you may not have known before.

Example Descriptions of Fire

Expert Q&A

↑ https://www.dictionary.com/browse/inferno
↑ https://www.dictionary.com/browse/blaze
↑ https://www.dictionary.com/browse/scorching
↑ https://www.thesaurus.com/browse/sea%20of%20flames
↑ https://www.dictionary.com/browse/cataclysm
↑ https://education.nationalgeographic.org/resource/ecological-benefits-fire
↑ https://www.dictionary.com/browse/burst
↑ https://www.dictionary.com/browse/glare
↑ https://www.mcgill.ca/newsroom/channels/news/experts-forest-fires-and-smog-332148
↑ https://www.dictionary.com/browse/smolder
↑ https://cpb-us-w2.wpmucdn.com/portfolio.newschool.edu/dist/2/14941/files/2017/06/WRITTING_5enses-209gmgv.pdf
↑ https://www.litcharts.com/literary-devices-and-terms/mood
↑ https://selfpublishing.com/setting-of-a-story/
↑ https://reporter.rit.edu/views/does-reading-really-improve-your-writing
↑ https://www.google.com/books/edition/Shardik/exKEDwAAQBAJ?hl=en&gbpv=1&printsec=frontcover
↑ https://www.technologyreview.com/2020/08/20/1007478/california-wildfires-climate-change-heatwaves/
↑ https://www.gutenberg.org/files/178/178-h/178-h.htm
↑ https://freakonomics.com/podcast/how-to-be-better-at-death-ep-450/
↑ https://files.gabbart.com/200/little_house_on_the_prairie__pdfdrivecom_.pdf

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The Cottage in the Woods

Describe this setting. Use the vocabulary builder to help you.
Play the grammar warm up game to write a setting description.
Who lives here?
Would you like to live here?
Why are the flowers glowing?
Who is the girl in the foreground?
Is she hiding?
Why has she come here?
Why isn’t she using a path to approach the building?
Use this as a story opener: “Once upon a time, there was a girl with golden locks. But that’s just the beginning of this tale. The real story begins with a bear.” [From “The Cottage in the Woods” by Katherine Coville. Published by Penguin Random House 2015.]

Credit: Petur Antonsson https://www.artstation.com/artist/paacart

The audible and e-book version of the cover for “The Cottage in the Woods” by Katherine Coville. Published by Penguin Random House 2015.

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HOW TO LET A WALK IN THE FOREST INSPIRE YOUR WRITING

Forest writing.

Have you ever gone for a walk with a naturalist or a bird watcher? They miss nothing.

“Look! Did you see that? Here, feel the underside of this leaf.” I want to journey through life, seeing and writing about the beauty in every blade of grass under my feet, and story characters in each cloud.

All these paths lead ‘nowhere,’ yet people arrive every day to follow them. With a journey that begins at a parking lot and ends up back in the same place, no two people have the same goal for being in the woods.

Outfitted with pedometers or cameras to gather images of their grandchildren at play, they pass with a nod and a smile. I go for exercise and fresh air and ideas for writing.

My companion soaks up the landscape with its lady slippers and wild rabbits, which will become watercolor paintings later.

ONE PATH, MANY JOURNEYS

People in City Forest walk the same paths but travel unique journeys. And they all end up in the parking lot when they are finished.

However, some days we find ourselves walking from crack to crack on a deserted sidewalk in the rain. Or our travels may take us through a desert with no distinct trails, and we must rely on the position of the sun and the strength of a camel.

How do we live to have no regrets when we find ourselves back in the parking lot?

The answer differs for each person, but it arises from love, curiosity, and creativity.

I encourage you to take metaphorical walks with a bird watcher to see what you may be missing. They will teach you to observe with new eyes.

“What just moved? Look! Do you see the Red-winged blackbird behind the yellow birch? She wants to distract us from seeing her nearby nest. “Let’s go around this stand of hemlocks and see what we find…”

Every naturalist or avian aficionado is made of the same stuff as a writer, artist, or gourmet chef.

For years I put off creative writing – too ‘busy’ earning a living. Oh yes, I had other reasons.

I was afraid I might get lost in a forest of ideas. I wouldn’t have known a gerund if it flapped its feathers in front of me.

Then one day, I decided that I would strike out – no pedometer, no map, no goal other than to see what emerged along the way. And that, my friends, is how TheReflectivePen got started.

A BOARDWALK FOR WRITERS

My fear that this swamp will swallow me keeps me from writing everything that is in my heart.

That’s when I am grateful for those who have gone before and built a boardwalk. If you are one of those who have constructed a way to safely cross the ‘writing bog’ (and you know who you are), thank you.

On the other hand, if you are among the many, many people I meet who say, “I wish I could write,” I want to say, “There is a way – complete with handrails.”

The original mile-long wooden trail that crosses the bog in City Forest had nothing to keep anyone from falling into the wetlands; and also, nothing to keep trespassers from stepping off, killing the delicate flora of the preserve and destroying the habitat of the forest denizens.

Writing requires the same kind of pauses and resting places. And a willingness not to step off the boardwalk, destroying the protected wetlands.

A bog full of our doubts and fears also holds delicate blooms of rare insights we might otherwise miss. Writing asks us to be an observer, a philosopher, and a guardian of life.

GETTING LOST

I once thought I wasn’t smart enough to write because I didn’t have road signs and maps and a GPS. I spent most of my time hunting in ‘how-to’ books. However, they eliminate the fun of wandering through a forest of words, phrases, and metaphors, getting lost in ideas.

One day, in City Forest, I left the main trail to explore a bunny trail, and before I knew it, I was completely turned around with no idea where I was.

I knew which way was north and nervously headed in that direction, knowing I would come to something I recognized eventually. About 30 minutes later, the parking lot came into view like an oasis in the desert.

I later learned that a bear roamed in the restricted area I had wandered into. In my panic to find something familiar, I missed all evidence of a bear – including posted warnings on the trees.

Some signs are worth being aware of on our journey! If you are a regular follower of this blog, you will find yourself wandering along with me as I explore one path after another. That is my joy in life, and I encourage you to explore writing the same way.

Another story you may enjoy about a walk in the Maine woods is ‘ How To Leave A Legacy Story.’

IF YOU EVER THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE TO WRITE, A PLACE IS WAITING FOR YOU ON FACEBOOK. COME AND FIND DAILY PROMPTS AND A SMALL GROWING COMMUNITY TO WELCOME YOU.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/memoircollective

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36 Views of Moscow Mountain: Teaching Travel Writing and Mindfulness in the Tradition of Hokusai and Thoreau

L'auteur américain Henry David Thoreau est un écrivain du voyage qui a rarement quitté sa ville natale de Concorde, Massachusetts, où il a vécu de 1817 à 1862. Son approche du "voyage" consiste à accorder une profonde attention à son environnement ordinaire et à voir le monde à partir de perspectives multiples, comme il l'explique avec subtilité dans Walden (1854). Inspiré par Thoreau et par la célèbre série de gravures du peintre d'estampes japonais Katsushika Hokusai, intitulée 36 vues du Mt. Fuji (1830-32), j'ai fait un cours sur "L'écriture thoreauvienne du voyage" à l'Université de l'Idaho, que j'appelle 36 vues des montagnes de Moscow: ou, Faire un grand voyage — l'esprit et le carnet ouvert — dans un petit lieu . Cet article explore la philosophie et les stratégies pédagogiques de ce cours, qui tente de partager avec les étudiants les vertus d'un regard neuf sur le monde, avec les yeux vraiment ouverts, avec le regard d'un voyageur, en "faisant un grand voyage" à Moscow, Idaho. Les étudiants affinent aussi leurs compétences d'écriture et apprennent les traditions littéraires et artistiques associées au voyage et au sens du lieu.

Index terms

Keywords: , designing a writing class to foster engagement.

1 The signs at the edge of town say, "Entering Moscow, Idaho. Population 25,060." This is a small hamlet in the midst of a sea of rolling hills, where farmers grow varieties of wheat, lentils, peas, and garbanzo beans, irrigated by natural rainfall. Although the town of Moscow has a somewhat cosmopolitan feel because of the presence of the University of Idaho (with its 13,000 students and a few thousand faculty and staff members), elegant restaurants, several bookstores and music stores, and a patchwork of artsy coffee shops on Main Street, the entire mini-metropolis has only about a dozen traffic lights and a single high school. As a professor of creative writing and the environmental humanities at the university, I have long been interested in finding ways to give special focuses to my writing and literature classes that will help my students think about the circumstances of their own lives and find not only academic meaning but personal significance in our subjects. I have recently taught graduate writing workshops on such themes as "The Body" and "Crisis," but when I was given the opportunity recently to teach an undergraduate writing class on Personal and Exploratory Writing, I decided to choose a focus that would bring me—and my students—back to one of the writers who has long been of central interest to me: Henry David Thoreau.

2 One of the courses I have routinely taught during the past six years is Environmental Writing, an undergraduate class that I offer as part of the university's Semester in the Wild Program, a unique undergraduate opportunity that sends a small group of students to study five courses (Ecology, Environmental History, Environmental Writing, Outdoor Leadership and Wilderness Survival, and Wilderness Management and Policy) at a remote research station located in the middle of the largest wilderness area (the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness) in the United States south of Alaska. In "Teaching with Wolves," a recent article about the Semester in the Wild Program, I explained that my goal in the Environmental Writing class is to help the students "synthesize their experience in the wilderness with the content of the various classes" and "to think ahead to their professional lives and their lives as engaged citizens, for which critical thinking and communication skills are so important" (325). A foundational text for the Environmental Writing class is a selection from Thoreau's personal journal, specifically the entries he made October 1-20, 1853, which I collected in the 1993 writing textbook Being in the World: An Environmental Reader for Writers . I ask the students in the Semester in the Wild Program to deeply immerse themselves in Thoreau's precise and colorful descriptions of the physical world that is immediately present to him and, in turn, to engage with their immediate encounters with the world in their wilderness location. Thoreau's entries read like this:

Oct. 4. The maples are reddening, and birches yellowing. The mouse-ear in the shade in the middle of the day, so hoary, looks as if the frost still lay on it. Well it wears the frost. Bumblebees are on the Aster undulates , and gnats are dancing in the air. Oct. 5. The howling of the wind about the house just before a storm to-night sounds extremely like a loon on the pond. How fit! Oct. 6 and 7. Windy. Elms bare. (372)

3 In thinking ahead to my class on Personal and Exploratory Writing, which would be offered on the main campus of the University of Idaho in the fall semester of 2018, I wanted to find a topic that would instill in my students the Thoreauvian spirit of visceral engagement with the world, engagement on the physical, emotional, and philosophical levels, while still allowing my students to remain in the city and live their regular lives as students. It occurred to me that part of what makes Thoreau's journal, which he maintained almost daily from 1837 (when he was twenty years old) to 1861 (just a year before his death), such a rich and elegant work is his sense of being a traveler, even when not traveling geographically.

Traveling a Good Deal in Moscow

I have traveled a good deal in Concord…. --Henry David Thoreau, Walden (1854; 4)

4 For Thoreau, one did not need to travel a substantial physical distance in order to be a traveler, in order to bring a traveler's frame of mind to daily experience. His most famous book, Walden , is well known as an account of the author's ideas and daily experiments in simple living during the two years, two months, and two days (July 4, 1845, to September 6, 1847) he spent inhabiting a simple wooden house that he built on the shore of Walden Pond, a small lake to the west of Boston, Massachusetts. Walden Pond is not a remote location—it is not out in the wilderness. It is on the edge of a small village, much like Moscow, Idaho. The concept of "traveling a good deal in Concord" is a kind of philosophical and psychological riddle. What does it mean to travel extensively in such a small place? The answer to this question is meaningful not only to teachers hoping to design writing classes in the spirit of Thoreau but to all who are interested in travel as an experience and in the literary genre of travel writing.

5 Much of Walden is an exercise in deftly establishing a playful and intellectually challenging system of synonyms, an array of words—"economy," "deliberateness," "simplicity," "dawn," "awakening," "higher laws," etc.—that all add up to powerful probing of what it means to live a mindful and attentive life in the world. "Travel" serves as a key, if subtle, metaphor for the mindful life—it is a metaphor and also, in a sense, a clue: if we can achieve the traveler's perspective without going far afield, then we might accomplish a kind of enlightenment. Thoreau's interest in mindfulness becomes clear in chapter two of Walden , "Where I Lived, and What I Lived For," in which he writes, "Morning is when I am awake and there is a dawn in me. To be awake is to be alive. I have never yet met a man who was quite awake. How could I have looked him in the face?" The latter question implies the author's feeling that he is himself merely evolving as an awakened individual, not yet fully awake, or mindful, in his efforts to live "a poetic or divine life" (90). Thoreau proceeds to assert that "We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn…. I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by a conscious endeavor" (90). Just what this endeavor might be is not immediately spelled out in the text, but the author does quickly point out the value of focusing on only a few activities or ideas at a time, so as not to let our lives be "frittered away by detail." He writes: "Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity! I say, let your affairs be as two or three, and not a hundred or a thousand; … and keep your accounts on your thumb nail" (91). The strong emphasis in the crucial second chapter of Walden is on the importance of waking up and living deliberately through a conscious effort to engage in particular activities that support such awakening. It occurs to me that "travel," or simply making one's way through town with the mindset of a traveler, could be one of these activities.

6 It is in the final chapter of the book, titled "Conclusion," that Thoreau makes clear the relationship between travel and living an attentive life. He begins the chapter by cataloguing the various physical locales throughout North America or around the world to which one might travel—Canada, Ohio, Colorado, and even Tierra del Fuego. But Thoreau states: "Our voyaging is only great-circle sailing, and the doctors prescribe for diseases of the skin merely. One hastens to Southern Africa to chase the giraffe; but surely that is not the game he would be after." What comes next is brief quotation from the seventeenth-century English poet William Habbington (but presented anonymously in Thoreau's text), which might be one of the most significant passages in the entire book:

Direct your eye sight inward, and you'll find A thousand regions in your mind Yet undiscovered. Travel them, and be Expert in home-cosmography. (320)

7 This admonition to travel the mysterious territory of one's own mind and master the strange cosmos of the self is actually a challenge to the reader—and probably to the author himself—to focus on self-reflection and small-scale, local movement as if such activities were akin to exploration on a grand, planetary scale. What is really at issue here is not the physical distance of one's journey, but the mental flexibility of one's approach to the world, one's ability to look at the world with a fresh, estranged point of view. Soon after his discussion of the virtues of interior travel, Thoreau explains why he left his simple home at Walden Pond after a few years of experimental living there, writing, "It is remarkable how easily and insensibly we fall into a particular route, and make a beaten track for ourselves" (323). In other words, no matter what we're doing in life, we can fall into a "beaten track" if we're not careful, thus failing to stay "awake."

8 As I thought about my writing class at the University of Idaho, I wondered how I might design a series of readings and writing exercises for university students that would somehow emulate the Thoreauvian objective of achieving ultra-mindfulness in a local environment. One of the greatest challenges in designing such a class is the fact that it took Thoreau himself many years to develop an attentiveness to his environment and his own emotional rhythms and an efficiency of expression that would enable him to describe such travel-without-travel, and I would have only sixteen weeks to achieve this with my own students. The first task, I decided, was to invite my students into the essential philosophical stance of the class, and I did this by asking my students to read the opening chapter of Walden ("Economy") in which he talks about traveling "a good deal" in his small New England village as well as the second chapter and the conclusion, which reveal the author's enthusiasm (some might even say obsession ) for trying to achieve an awakened condition and which, in the end, suggest that waking up to the meaning of one's life in the world might be best accomplished by attempting the paradoxical feat of becoming "expert in home-cosmography." As I stated it among the objectives for my course titled 36 Views of Moscow Mountain: Or, Traveling a Good Deal—with Open Minds and Notebooks—in a Small Place , one of our goals together (along with practicing nonfiction writing skills and learning about the genre of travel writing) would be to "Cultivate a ‘Thoreauvian' way of appreciating the subtleties of the ordinary world."

Windy. Elms Bare.

9 For me, the elegance and heightened sensitivity of Thoreau's engagement with place is most movingly exemplified in his journal, especially in the 1850s after he's mastered the art of observation and nuanced, efficient description of specific natural phenomena and environmental conditions. His early entries in the journal are abstract mini-essays on such topics as truth, beauty, and "The Poet," but over time the journal notations become so immersed in the direct experience of the more-than-human world, in daily sensory experiences, that the pronoun "I" even drops out of many of these records. Lawrence Buell aptly describes this Thoreauvian mode of expression as "self-relinquishment" (156) in his 1995 book The Environmental Imagination , suggesting such writing "question[s] the authority of the superintending consciousness. As such, it opens up the prospect of a thoroughgoing perceptual breakthrough, suggesting the possibility of a more ecocentric state of being than most of us have dreamed of" (144-45). By the time Thoreau wrote "Windy. Elms bare" (372) as his single entry for October 6 and 7, 1853, he had entered what we might call an "ecocentric zone of consciousness" in his work, attaining the ability to channel his complex perceptions of season change (including meteorology and botany and even his own emotional state) into brief, evocative prose.

10 I certainly do not expect my students to be able to do such writing after only a brief introduction to the course and to Thoreau's own methods of journal writing, but after laying the foundation of the Thoreauvian philosophy of nearby travel and explaining to my students what I call the "building blocks of the personal essay" (description, narration, and exposition), I ask them to engage in a preliminary journal-writing exercise that involves preparing five journal entries, each "a paragraph or two in length," that offer detailed physical descriptions of ordinary phenomena from their lives (plants, birds, buildings, street signs, people, food, etc.), emphasizing shape, color, movement or change, shadow, and sometimes sound, smell, taste, and/or touch. The goal of the journal entries, I tell the students, is to begin to get them thinking about close observation, vivid descriptive language, and the potential to give their later essays in the class an effective texture by balancing more abstract information and ideas with evocative descriptive passages and storytelling.

11 I am currently teaching this class, and I am writing this article in early September, as we are entering the fourth week of the semester. The students have just completed the journal-writing exercise and are now preparing to write the first of five brief essays on different aspects of Moscow that will eventually be braided together, as discrete sections of the longer piece, into a full-scale literary essay about Moscow, Idaho, from the perspective of a traveler. For the journal exercise, my students wrote some rather remarkable descriptive statements, which I think bodes well for their upcoming work. One student, Elizabeth Isakson, wrote stunning journal descriptions of a cup of coffee, her own feet, a lemon, a basil leaf, and a patch of grass. For instance, she wrote:

Steaming hot liquid poured into a mug. No cream, just black. Yet it appears the same brown as excretion. The texture tells another story with meniscus that fades from clear to gold and again brown. The smell is intoxicating for those who are addicted. Sweetness fills the nostrils; bitterness rushes over the tongue. The contrast somehow complements itself. Earthy undertones flower up, yet this beverage is much more satisfying than dirt. When the mug runs dry, specks of dark grounds remain swimming in the sunken meniscus. Steam no longer rises because energy has found a new home.

12 For the grassy lawn, she wrote:

Calico with shades of green, the grass is yellowing. Once vibrant, it's now speckled with straw. Sticking out are tall, seeding dandelions. Still some dips in the ground have maintained thick, soft patches of green. The light dances along falling down from the trees above, creating a stained-glass appearance made from various green shades. The individual blades are stiff enough to stand erect, but they will yield to even slight forces of wind or pressure. Made from several long strands seemingly fused together, some blades fray at the end, appearing brittle. But they do not simply break off; they hold fast to the blade to which they belong.

13 The point of this journal writing is for the students to look closely enough at ordinary reality to feel estranged from it, as if they have never before encountered (or attempted to describe) a cup of coffee or a field of grass—or a lemon or a basil leaf or their own body. Thus, the Thoreauvian objective of practicing home-cosmography begins to take shape. The familiar becomes exotic, note-worthy, and strangely beautiful, just as it often does for the geographical travel writer, whose adventures occur far away from where she or he normally lives. Travel, in a sense, is an antidote to complacency, to over-familiarity. But the premise of my class in Thoreauvian travel writing is that a slight shift of perspective can overcome the complacency we might naturally feel in our home surroundings. To accomplish this we need a certain degree of disorientation. This is the next challenge for our class.

The Blessing of Being Lost

14 Most of us take great pains to "get oriented" and "know where we're going," whether this is while running our daily errands or when thinking about the essential trajectories of our lives. We're often instructed by anxious parents to develop a sense of purpose and a sense of direction, if only for the sake of basic safety. But the traveler operates according to a somewhat different set of priorities, perhaps, elevating adventure and insight above basic comfort and security, at least to some degree. This certainly seems to be the case for the Thoreauvian traveler, or for Thoreau himself. In Walden , he writes:

…not until we are completely lost, or turned round,--for a man needs only be turned round once with his eyes shut in this world to be lost,--do we appreciate the vastness and strangeness of Nature. Every man has to learn the points of compass again as often as he awakes, whether from sleep or any abstraction. Not till we are lost, in other words, not till we have lost the world, do we begin to find ourselves, and realize where we are and the infinite extent of our relations. (171)

15 I could explicate this passage at length, but that's not really my purpose here. I read this as a celebration of salutary disorientation, of the potential to be lost in such a way as to deepen one's ability to pay attention to oneself and one's surroundings, natural and otherwise. If travel is to a great degree an experience uniquely capable of triggering attentiveness to our own physical and psychological condition, to other cultures and the minds and needs of other people, and to a million small details of our environment that we might take for granted at home but that accrue special significance when we're away, I would argue that much of this attentiveness is owed to the sense of being lost, even the fear of being lost, that often happens when we leave our normal habitat.

16 So in my class I try to help my students "get lost" in a positive way. Here in Moscow, the major local landmark is a place called Moscow Mountain, a forested ridge of land just north of town, running approximately twenty kilometers to the east of the city. Moscow "Mountain" does not really have a single, distinctive peak like a typical mountain—it is, as I say, more of a ridge than a pinnacle. When I began contemplating this class on Thoreauvian travel writing, the central concepts I had in mind were Thoreau's notion of traveling a good deal in Concord and also the idea of looking at a specific place from many different angles. The latter idea is not only Thoreauvian, but perhaps well captured in the eighteen-century Japanese artist Katsushika Hokusai's series of woodblock prints known as 36 Views of Mt. Fuji , which offers an array of different angles on the mountain itself and on other landscape features (lakes, the sea, forests, clouds, trees, wind) and human behavior which is represented in many of the prints, often with Mt. Fuji in the distant background or off to the side. In fact, I imagine Hokusai's approach to representing Mt. Fuji as so important to the concept of this travel writing class that I call the class "36 Views of Moscow Mountain," symbolizing the multiple approaches I'll be asking my students to take in contemplating and describing not only Moscow Mountain itself, but the culture and landscape and the essential experience of Moscow the town. The idea of using Hokusai's series of prints as a focal point of this class came to me, in part, from reading American studies scholar Cathy Davidson's 36 Views of Mount Fuji: On Finding Myself in Japan , a memoir that offers sixteen short essays about different facets of her life as a visiting professor in that island nation.

17 The first of five brief essays my students will prepare for the class is what I'm calling a "Moscow Mountain descriptive essay," building upon the small descriptive journal entries they've written recently. In this case, though, I am asking the students to describe the shapes and colors of the Moscow Mountain ridge, while also telling a brief story or two about their observations of the mountain, either by visiting the mountain itself to take a walk or a bike ride or by explaining how they glimpse portions of the darkly forested ridge in the distance while walking around the University of Idaho campus or doing things in town. In preparation for the Moscow Mountain essays, we read several essays or book chapters that emphasize "organizing principles" in writing, often the use of particular landscape features, such as trees or mountains, as a literary focal point. For instance, in David Gessner's "Soaring with Castro," from his 2007 book Soaring with Fidel: An Osprey Odyssey from Cape Cod to Cuba and Beyond , he not only refers to La Gran Piedra (a small mountain in southeastern Cuba) as a narrative focal point, but to the osprey, or fish eagle, itself and its migratory journey as an organizing principle for his literary project (203). Likewise, in his essay "I Climb a Tree and Become Dissatisfied with My Lot," Chicago author Leonard Dubkin writes about his decision, as a newly fired journalist, to climb up a tree in Chicago's Lincoln Park to observe and listen to the birds that gather in the green branches in the evening, despite the fact that most adults would consider this a strange and inappropriate activity. We also looked at several of Hokusai's woodblock prints and analyzed these together in class, trying to determine how the mountain served as an organizing principle for each print or whether there were other key features of the prints—clouds, ocean waves, hats and pieces of paper floating in the wind, humans bent over in labor—that dominate the images, with Fuji looking on in the distance.

18 I asked my students to think of Hokusai's representations of Mt. Fuji as aesthetic models, or metaphors, for what they might try to do in their brief (2-3 pages) literary essays about Moscow Mountain. What I soon discovered was that many of my students, even students who have spent their entire lives in Moscow, either were not aware of Moscow Mountain at all or had never actually set foot on the mountain. So we spent half an hour during one class session, walking to a vantage point on the university campus, where I could point out where the mountain is and we could discuss how one might begin to write about such a landscape feature in a literary essay. Although I had thought of the essay describing the mountain as a way of encouraging the students to think about a familiar landscape as an orienting device, I quickly learned that this will be a rather challenging exercise for many of the students, as it will force them to think about an object or a place that is easily visible during their ordinary lives, but that they typically ignore. Paying attention to the mountain, the ridge, will compel them to reorient themselves in this city and think about a background landscape feature that they've been taking for granted until now. I think of this as an act of disorientation or being lost—a process of rethinking their own presence in this town that has a nearby mountain that most of them seldom think about. I believe Thoreau would consider this a good, healthy experience, a way of being present anew in a familiar place.

36 Views—Or, When You Invert Your Head

19 Another key aspect of Hokusai's visual project and Thoreau's literary project is the idea of changing perspective. One can view Mt. Fuji from 36 different points of views, or from thousands of different perspectives, and it is never quite the same place—every perspective is original, fresh, mind-expanding. The impulse to shift perspective in pursuit of mindfulness is also ever-present in Thoreau's work, particularly in his personal journal and in Walden . This idea is particularly evident, to me, in the chapter of Walden titled "The Ponds," where he writes:

Standing on the smooth sandy beach at the east end of the pond, in a calm September afternoon, when a slight haze makes the opposite shore line indistinct, I have seen whence came the expression, "the glassy surface of a lake." When you invert your head, it looks like a thread of finest gossamer stretched across the valley, and gleaming against the distinct pine woods, separating one stratum of the atmosphere from another. (186)

20 Elsewhere in the chapter, Thoreau describes the view of the pond from the top of nearby hills and the shapes and colors of pebbles in the water when viewed from close up. He chances physical perspective again and again throughout the chapter, but it is in the act of looking upside down, actually suggesting that one might invert one's head, that he most vividly conveys the idea of looking at the world in different ways in order to be lost and awakened, just as the traveler to a distant land might feel lost and invigorated by such exposure to an unknown place.

21 After asking students to write their first essay about Moscow Mountain, I give them four additional short essays to write, each two to four pages long. We read short examples of place-based essays, some of them explicitly related to travel, and then the students work on their own essays on similar topics. The second short essay is about food—I call this the "Moscow Meal" essay. We read the final chapter of Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma (2006), "The Perfect Meal," and Anthony Bourdain's chapter "Where Cooks Come From" in the book A Cook's Tour (2001) are two of the works we study in preparation for the food essay. The three remaining short essays including a "Moscow People" essay (exploring local characters are important facets of the place), a more philosophical essay about "the concept of Moscow," and a final "Moscow Encounter" essay that tells the story of a dramatic moment of interaction with a person, an animal, a memorable thing to eat or drink, a sunset, or something else. Along the way, we read the work of Wendell Berry, Joan Didion, Barbara Kingsolver, Kim Stafford, Paul Theroux, and other authors. Before each small essay is due, we spend a class session holding small-group workshops, allowing the students to discuss their essays-in-progress with each other and share portions of their manuscripts. The idea is that they will learn about writing even by talking with each other about their essays. In addition to writing about Moscow from various angles, they will learn about additional points of view by considering the angles of insight developed by their fellow students. All of this is the writerly equivalent of "inverting [their] heads."

Beneath the Smooth Skin of Place

22 Aside from Thoreau's writing and Hokusai's images, perhaps the most important writer to provide inspiration for this class is Indiana-based essayist Scott Russell Sanders. Shortly after introducing the students to Thoreau's key ideas in Walden and to the richness of his descriptive writing in the journal, I ask them to read his essay "Buckeye," which first appeared in Sanders's Writing from the Center (1995). "Buckeye" demonstrates the elegant braiding together of descriptive, narrative, and expository/reflective prose, and it also offers a strong argument about the importance of creating literature and art about place—what he refers to as "shared lore" (5)—as a way of articulating the meaning of a place and potentially saving places that would otherwise be exploited for resources, flooded behind dams, or otherwise neglected or damaged. The essay uses many of the essential literary devices, ranging from dialogue to narrative scenes, that I hope my students will practice in their own essays, while also offering a vivid argument in support of the kind of place-based writing the students are working on.

23 Another vital aspect of our work together in this class is the effort to capture the wonderful idiosyncrasies of this place, akin to the idiosyncrasies of any place that we examine closely enough to reveal its unique personality. Sanders's essay "Beneath the Smooth Skin of America," which we study together in Week 9 of the course, addresses this topic poignantly. The author challenges readers to learn the "durable realities" of the places where they live, the details of "watershed, biome, habitat, food-chain, climate, topography, ecosystem and the areas defined by these natural features they call bioregions" (17). "The earth," he writes, "needs fewer tourists and more inhabitants" (16). By Week 9 of the semester, the students have written about Moscow Mountain, about local food, and about local characters, and they are ready at this point to reflect on some of the more philosophical dimensions of living in a small academic village surrounded by farmland and beyond that surrounded by the Cascade mountain range to the West and the Rockies to the East. "We need a richer vocabulary of place" (18), urges Sanders. By this point in the semester, by reading various examples of place-based writing and by practicing their own powers of observation and expression, my students will, I hope, have developed a somewhat richer vocabulary to describe their own experiences in this specific place, a place they've been trying to explore with "open minds and notebooks." Sanders argues that

if we pay attention, we begin to notice patterns in the local landscape. Perceiving those patterns, acquiring names and theories and stories for them, we cease to be tourists and become inhabitants. The bioregional consciousness I am talking about means bearing your place in mind, keeping track of its condition and needs, committing yourself to its care. (18)

24 Many of my students will spend only four or five years in Moscow, long enough to earn a degree before moving back to their hometowns or journeying out into the world in pursuit of jobs or further education. Moscow will be a waystation for some of these student writers, not a permanent home. Yet I am hoping that this semester-long experiment in Thoreauvian attentiveness and place-based writing will infect these young people with both the bioregional consciousness Sanders describes and a broader fascination with place, including the cultural (yes, the human ) dimensions of this and any other place. I feel such a mindfulness will enrich the lives of my students, whether they remain here or move to any other location on the planet or many such locations in succession.

25 Toward the end of "Beneath the Smooth Skin of America," Sanders tells the story of encountering a father with two young daughters near a city park in Bloomington, Indiana, where he lives. Sanders is "grazing" on wild mulberries from a neighborhood tree, and the girls are keen to join him in savoring the local fruit. But their father pulls them away, stating, "Thank you very much, but we never eat anything that grows wild. Never ever." To this Sanders responds: "If you hold by that rule, you will not get sick from eating poison berries, but neither will you be nourished from eating sweet ones. Why not learn to distinguish one from the other? Why feed belly and mind only from packages?" (19-20). By looking at Moscow Mountain—and at Moscow, Idaho, more broadly—from numerous points of view, my students, I hope, will nourish their own bellies and minds with the wild fruit and ideas of this place. I say this while chewing a tart, juicy, and, yes, slightly sweet plum that I pulled from a feral tree in my own Moscow neighborhood yesterday, an emblem of engagement, of being here.

Bibliography

BUELL, Lawrence, The Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture , Harvard University Press, 1995.

DAVIDSON, Cathy, 36 Views of Mount Fuji: On Finding Myself in Japan , Duke University Press, 2006.

DUBKIN, Leonard, "I Climb a Tree and Become Dissatisfied with My Lot." Enchanted Streets: The Unlikely Adventures of an Urban Nature Lover , Little, Brown and Company, 1947, 34-42.

GESSNER, David, Soaring with Fidel: An Osprey Odyssey from Cape Cod to Cuba and Beyond , Beacon, 2007.

ISAKSON, Elizabeth, "Journals." Assignment for 36 Views of Moscow Mountain (English 208), University of Idaho, Fall 2018.

SANDERS, Scott Russell, "Buckeye" and "Beneath the Smooth Skin of America." Writing from the Center , Indiana University Press, 1995, pp. 1-8, 9-21.

SLOVIC, Scott, "Teaching with Wolves", Western American Literature 52.3 (Fall 2017): 323-31.

THOREAU, Henry David, "October 1-20, 1853", Being in the World: An Environmental Reader for Writers , edited by Scott H. Slovic and Terrell F. Dixon, Macmillan, 1993, 371-75.

THOREAU, Henry David, Walden . 1854. Princeton University Press, 1971.

Bibliographical reference

Scott Slovic , “ 36 Views of Moscow Mountain: Teaching Travel Writing and Mindfulness in the Tradition of Hokusai and Thoreau ” , Caliban , 59 | 2018, 41-54.

Electronic reference

Scott Slovic , “ 36 Views of Moscow Mountain: Teaching Travel Writing and Mindfulness in the Tradition of Hokusai and Thoreau ” , Caliban [Online], 59 | 2018, Online since 01 June 2018 , connection on 05 August 2024 . URL : http://journals.openedition.org/caliban/3688; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/caliban.3688

About the author

Scott slovic.

University of Idaho Scott Slovic is University Distinguished Professor of Environmental Humanities at the University of Idaho, USA. The author and editor of many books and articles, he edited the journal ISLE: Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment from 1995 to 2020. His latest coedited book is The Routledge Handbook of Ecocriticism and Environmental Communication (2019).

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Scriabin Association

Founded to celebrate scriabin, scriabinism and scriabinists…, on the tracks of scriabin as pianist.

by Simon Nicholls Revised version of an article first published in Russian translation, in Uchëniye Zapiski [Scholarly Writings] vol. 6, published by the Scriabin Memorial Museum, Moscow 2011

It pleases me as a pianist to play them…With me they sound well… Alexander Scriabin

In his memoirs of Scriabin Alexander Goldenweiser used the carefully chosen phrase: ‘Scriabin was a pianist, one may say, of genius.’ [1] And in the words ‘one may say’ is revealed the writer’s awareness of the controversy which surrounded Scriabin’s extremely individual playing during his lifetime. The first wife of the composer, Vera Ivanovna Scriabina, an excellent pianist, expressed the opinion that his playing hindered public understanding of the music: ‘Everything, though, in which people see shortcomings of the works comes from a performance which is exceedingly free and unrhythmical, which hinders understanding and assessment of the works.’ [2] On the other hand, no less a figure than A. V. Ossovsky stated in his reminiscences, writing of Scriabin’s performance at home of his own Prometheus: ‘This performance deepened my perception of this music exceedingly.’ [3] The review in The Times of the performance conducted by Henry Wood of Prometheus with Scriabin at the piano and after Wood’s discussion of the work with the composer was that Prometheus was ‘wonderfully clarified’ in comparison with a performance with the English pianist Arthur Cook the previous year. [4]

In order to make sense of these contradictory opinions it is necessary to examine the origins of Scriabin’s pianism and to compare critical responses in the press and the descriptions by friends and colleagues of Scriabin’s pianism and interpretative methods. Such descriptions are necessarily subjective. It is particularly important, therefore, to take into account the strictly objective evidence represented by the transcriptions into staff notation made by Pavel Lobanov from the composer’s recordings of his own works on reproducing pianos (‘player’ pianos which can play rolls which reproduce, with varying degrees of accuracy, previously recorded performances.) [5] The rolls were endorsed, with certain reservations, by Leonid Sabaneyev, who frequently heard Scriabin perform in both domestic and public conditions, and was concerned that the tradition of his interpretation might be lost to succeeding generations:

‘There exist recordings of his playing on mechanical instruments, which, if they cannot reproduce his nervous technique, nonetheless to a high degree reproduce the play of rhythm.’ [6]

By the phrase ‘nervous technique’ Sabaneyev intended to indicate the subtle nuances and colours, and perhaps also the refined pedalling, of Scriabin’s playing. These limitations of the recordings are acknowledged by Lobanov. [7] But what Sabaneyev does not mention in his account of the mechanical recordings is their preservation of the changes made by the composer in his own text, an aspect of the composer’s interpretation to which Sabaneyev himself attached great importance. [8] It should be remembered that Sabaneyev was writing purely from an aural impression of the recordings, and not from the study of a graphic representation. As the transcriptions into staff notation show the moment of depression and release of each key, much may be deduced from them about the composer’s instrumental technique. Thus, many aspects of the contemporary accounts may be checked against the testimony of these transcriptions, and we may come nearer to answering the question: was Scriabin’s playing some sort of wilful, nervous aberration, or did his freedoms of rhythm and modifications of his own text illuminate the meaning of his music?

Roots and early days

Scriabin’s mother, Lyubov Petrovna Scriabina, née Shchetinina (1849-1873), died only a year after his birth, but it is likely that he inherited his musical ability, both as performer and composer, from her. In a burgeoning concert career before her marriage to Nikolai Alexandrovich Scriabin in 1871 her wide repertoire included her own compositions, none of which, unfortunately, survive. Her period of study with Theodore Leschetizky in St. Petersburg overlapped by one year that of Vasily Safonov, the later teacher of Scriabin, and the director of the conservatoire at that time, Anton Rubinstein, referred to her as his ‘little daughter’. Thus, Scriabin also owed valuable connections in the musical world to his mother. [9]

In her touching and charming memoir, Lyubov’ Alexandrovna, the aunt of the composer, who took over his upbringing, recounts an informal early musical education. This was on the advice of Rubinstein. Hearing of Lyubov’ Petrovna’s death and of her gifted son, Rubinstein showed great interest in the child. Struck by the little boy’s musical talent, he recommended that Lyubov’ Alexandrovna, who was herself an amateur pianist, should not make him either play or compose unless he wished to; this was probably in Scriabin’s seventh year. [10] ‘Shurin’ka’ (the affectionate diminutive by which Scriabin was known as a little boy) played by ear at the age of five and also improvised at an early age, [11] but he was impatient with notation, which bored him, and was still playing more readily by ear and improvising than from music when he entered the cadet corps in 1882. [12]

This early preference seems to have stayed with Scriabin to some extent, leading later on to the difficulties with establishing a correct text recorded in the correspondence with Belyayev. Scriabin later became far more conscious of musical orthography, but retained the bad habit (against the advice of Taneyev) of correcting proofs at the piano. [13] As Sabaneyev remarked: ‘Every work exists fully, complete to the last detail, only in the mental image of its author.’ [14] In the case of Scriabin, he further observed, ‘His notation in relation to his conception is one of the most incomplete.’ [15] This incompleteness had its roots, Sabaneyev felt, in the capriciousness of Scriabin’s conception, but his waywardness with manuscripts and proofs is also an important factor.

In the summer of 1883 Scriabin commenced piano lessons with Georgiy Konyus, then twenty years old. Konyus was not impressed by their first meeting: ‘The little boy looked puny. He was pale, of small stature, looked younger than his years…he turned out not to know notation very well; he knew the scales and the tonalities, and with the weak sound of his little fingers which barely carried he played to me, what exactly, I don’t remember, but it was accurate and satisfactory… he learned pieces quickly, but his performance, it should be remembered, as a result of the shortcomings of his physique, was always ethereal and monotonous.’ [16]

The complaint of an insufficiently strong tonal quality was to haunt Scriabin in press notices of the less favourable tendency in later years:

‘The weakest point of Scriabin as a concert pianist is of course the insufficiency of strength of tone.’ [17]

In 1885 Scriabin commenced lessons with the well-known Moscow teacher Nikolai Zverev (1832-1893); this was on the advice of Sergei Taneyev, with whom Scriabin was studying musical theory. [18] There were great advantages to studying with Zverev: he disciplined pupils in technical practice and taught them how to work seriously, [19] he taught always with regard for sound technical methods such as freedom of arms/hands and wrists and musical fundamentals such as rhythm and musical literacy . [20] During the years 1880/81- 1890/91, Zverev’s pupils included, besides Scriabin, Alexander Siloti, Sergei Rachmaninov, Konstantin Igumnov, Yelena Bekman-Shcherbina – the last three of whom were friends and colleagues throughout Scriabin’s later life, despite fundamental disagreements between Rachmaninov and Scriabin.

During his study with Zverev, Scriabin performed Schumann’s Papillons , op. 2, in the Great Hall of the Charitable Society with evident talent despite some inaccuracy. [21] Schumann’s music was of lasting appeal to him, and he taught the Davidsbündlertänze with passion at Moscow Conservatoire. [22] A feature of the Papillons and, more strongly, of the Davidsbündlertänze is that, although they do not tell a story, they express thoughts and states of mind [23] – something essential to the mature Scriabin’s music. For his graduation recital at Moscow Conservatoire Scriabin prepared, as one of the works to be studied without the help of a professor, the Capriccio on the departure of a beloved brother of Bach – a further example of interest in a work expressing thoughts and states of mind. [24] In order to convey the content of such works an especially ‘speaking’ quality of phrasing and agogics, a special ‘intonation’, is necessary, and this we find in the playing of Scriabin with its manifold agogic and tonal variety, what Konstantin Igumnov described as ‘a quality of phrasing, vivid to a rare degree’. [25]

Moscow Conservatoire

Scriabin entered the Conservatoire in January 1888, joining the class of Vassily Safonov, who had selected him as a student while he was still studying with Zverev. [26] There was a musical affinity between professor and student, as Mark Meichik recounts:

‘Safonov was a student of Leschetizky, but it should be said that the ‘Chopinesque’ style, lacking depth of sound, of Brassin, appealed to him more. For Scriabin the school of Safonov was perhaps the only practicable one.’ [27]

Safonov, who often worked with his pupil at home, recalled:

‘One time I happened to drop off. I wake up to some sort of charming sound. I didn’t even want to move, so as not to destroy the magic spell. It turned out to be his D flat major prelude… Scriabin internalised to a high degree what I always impress upon my students: ‘The less the piano sounds like itself under the fingers of a performer, the better it is.’ Much in his way of playing was my own. But he had a special variety of tone colours, a special ideally subtle use of the pedal; he possessed a rare gift, exclusively his own: with him the instrument breathed.’ [28]

In considering Safonov’s high estimation of instrumental colour and its linking with a sophisticated use of pedal it should be remembered that he was an important conductor as well as teacher of piano. If there is to be colour in piano playing it must first be present in the imagination of the performer.

Critical opinions of Scriabin’s playing of other composers’ works during his time as a student were mixed. On 26. 2.1891 the critic of the Novosti dnya (News of the Day), Kruglikov, commented on a concert in which Scriabin performed the first movement of Henselt’s F minor concerto:

‘Messrs Presman and Samuelson, and all the more Mr Scriabin, played with precision and accurately, but without that brilliance which distinguished [Miss] Yuon, a student of Pabst, and without the talented quality of Mr Rakhmaninov…’ [29]

However, two days later, the critic of the Moskovskie vedomosti [Moscow Gazette], reviewing the same concert, praised Scriabin’s calm and self-control, qualities not always shown in Scriabin’s later concerts. [30] This later unreliability, and a high degree of stage fright, [31] were partly caused by his being, as he complained to a student, an intermittent pianist whose performances took place in the intervals between composing. [32] In the same paper on 21. 3. 1892 a perceptive critic observed of Scriabin’s performance of the Liszt concerto no. 1:

‘Perhaps he is fitted rather to more complex musical tasks, hardly to the task required by the concerto of Liszt which for the most part requires external brilliance.’ [33]

Critical opinion of Liszt’s work may have changed, but this impression may usefully be compared with Sabaneyev’s less sympathetic account of his first hearing of Scriabin, playing the sonata op. 101 of Beethoven, probably in 1891:

‘I remember that neither his personality nor his playing made any special impression on me.’ [34]

In the strongest contrast is Ossovsky’s response to the young Scriabin’s playing of his own works in 1890-91:

‘Exquisite playing, captivating sound quality, a great, light technique, a refined, expressive, free and convincing performance, as befits the composer.’ [35]

Comparing these reports, it seems clear that Scriabin adopted a quite different, more personal and involved manner when playing his own music. As is well-known, he performed no other composer’s music throughout his playing career.

Here should also be mentioned the well-known and catastrophic hand injury which befell Scriabin in the summer of 1891, led to the writing of the tragic 1st sonata and the Nocturne and prelude for left hand op. 9, and to a huge upheaval in his personal philosophy and outlook on the world. Less well-known, perhaps, is that the injury may have had more than one cause. Engel’ recounts the story of Scriabin’s study of Liszt’s Don Juan Fantasia and Balakirev’s Islamey throughout the summer in emulation of his fellow student Joseph Lhévinne, and Presman tells of his return to the Conservatoire and Safonov’s horrified reaction. [36] However, Safonov’s version of the event as reported by Engel’ attributes the cause to Safonov’s demand for a deeper touch, burying the fingers so to speak in the keys, which Scriabin carried out to an alarming and harmful degree. [37] Through determination, Scriabin made a recovery against the prognosis of doctors, but the hand was never quite the same again. [38] To the end of his life Scriabin was unconsciously exercising the fingers of his right hand on the table or on his knee, checking their action. [39] It is possible that an accident at the age of fourteen, in which the driver of a horse-drawn vehicle, most likely a cab, collided with Scriabin, causing him to break his right clavicle and necessitating a prolonged period of writing and playing with the left hand, may have rendered him vulnerable to the later, playing-induced injury. [40]

The mature performer

Amongst the many descriptions by contemporaries of Scriabin’s playing, two stand out for their vividness, both of performance in a domestic situation. Alexander Pasternak, brother of Boris, wrote as follows:

‘ [… I felt and understood that his fingers produced sound, not by falling on the keys, not striking them, […] but on the contrary by pulling away from the key and with a light movement flying above the keys…he sat leaning back and with head thrown back.’ [41]

This childhood memory of a well-informed musical amateur may be balanced by the professionally technical explanation of Mark Meichik:

‘As a pianist he was a typical product of the Safonov school, with a lifted wrist, freely positioned, only slightly curved fingers, a light but very quick and exact stroke of the lifted finger […] his use of the pedal was entirely unprecedented […] extremely precise and original, the result being a sort of special, transparent sonority of the instrument […] Scriabin actually mixed harmonies, creating by the use of the pedal unusual combinations of sounds[…]’ [42]

Ill. 1. Scriabin at the piano, by Leonid Pasternak (1909) (Scriabin Museum, Moscow)

Recordings on reproducing pianos

In 1908 and 1910 Scriabin made a number of piano roll recordings for the firms of Hupfeld and Welte. A number of the Welte recordings have been tape-recorded and transferred to LP and CD, for Melodiya, [44] and both Hupfeld and Welte recordings have been transcribed into staff and graphic notation by Pavel Lobanov. The staff notation has the double advantage of avoiding the vagaries of playback (particularly uneven speed) and enabling close examination and measurement of the performances. Though these early recordings have technical limitations in the areas of dynamic, tonal balancing and pedalling (in the sense that half-changes and other subtleties could not be shown), they are an invaluable guide to the changes Scriabin made in his own published texts, to the rubato style of the composer and to his keyboard approach – whether notes were held by the pedal or the fingers, what articulation was employed, etc. The earlier Hupfeld rolls are cruder in their mechanism – though some accentuation was recorded, dynamics and pedalling were shown by typographical means on the roll and had to be added by the operator of the mechanism. However, they are important in showing Scriabin dealing with larger-scale works – the sonatas nos. 2 and 3. The duplication on the two systems of certain works, in particular the Poème op. 32 no. 1, is a testimony to the correctness of the statement by Sabaneyev: ‘Scriabin plays his works not as they are written. But at the same time he plays them always in the same way, always with exactly the same deviations from his written texts.’ [45] In this work the alterations in notes are identical and the tempo changes extremely close in the two versions.

The changes in notes made by Scriabin are mainly of two kinds: later afterthoughts and differences from the published version arising from mistakes in the original printed version or mistaken corrections in later editions. The second sonata shows alterations of both kinds. At the end of the exposition of the first movement (b. 57) Scriabin plays the right hand chord not twice as printed but once only, suggesting that ties were omitted in the manuscript and first edition (mus. ex. 1). [46]

Mus. ex. 1. Sonata no. 2, 1 st movement, b. 57. (Graph at top shows tempo, and upper staff shows Scriabin’s performance as transcribed from the roll; lower staff shows the printed text as in the Russian complete edition of 1948)

Bars 31 to 35 of the first movement and the parallel passage b. 107-110 show one difference in the first section and a number of differences in the second, enriching the variation between the passages and giving the effect described by contemporaries as quasi -improvisatory [47] – though Scriabin stated that he was against actual improvisation in performance [48] (music example 2 a-b).

Mus. ex. 2a. Sonata no.2 , 1 st movement, b. 31-35 ( Articulation not shown. Variations in the transcription from the piano roll are shown below the staff.)

Mus. ex. 2b. Sonata no. 2, 1st movement, b. 107-110 (Articulation and variations shown as in 2a)

In the performance of this movement the variation of tempo illuminates the form, tempos increasing through sections as they build in drama and dropping dramatically to show formal divisions with clarity. This is also the case in the second movement, where the sections, such as the first sixteen bars, are played at a flying speed, but a Luftpause is made between them. At bar 94 (before the final return of the second subject) the gap is so long that the transcription shows it as an extra bar. (An analogous, though shorter, caesura is introduced in the prelude op. 11 no. 14 at the end of bar 14, just before the headlong dash to the conclusion.) All this is radically different from the perpetuum mobile manner adopted by some players, and confirms Sabaneyev’s statement that Scriabin’s rubato was ‘profoundly natural’ . [49]

Scriabin makes textual alterations in this movement also, including changing the upper note of the trill in the left hand, bar 69-70, from a to a sharp. This has a double effect: it softens the change from major to minor in bars 63-66 and 67-70 and the a sharp of bars 69-70 leads more naturally into the b of bar 71, making a smoother and more unified progression (see the harmonic reduction, music example 3).

Mus. ex. 3. Sonata no. 2, 2nd movement, b. 63-71 (harmonic reduction) (Variation in the transcription shown below the staves.)

In the first movement of sonata no. 3, the impetuous movement forward through the paragraphs (again with relaxations to define sections) gives the mood an expression of impulsiveness highly characteristic of Scriabin. It is remarkable that here and in a piece like the Etude op. 8 no. 12, though the tempo range is wide, the average tempo is close to the printed one (in the sonata, Scriabin relaxes in the second subject group rather than adopting the faster printed tempo.) In bar 92, Scriabin plays b on the second beat in the right hand, as was printed in the first edition, rather than g sharp – an alteration made in later editions to bring the phrase into uniformity with its other appearances. But Scriabin’s b avoids collision with the left hand’s tenor part (music example 4).

Mus. ex. 4. Sonata no. 3, 1 st movement, b. 92 (Above: as played by Scriabin and as published in Belaieff edition. Below: text as in the Moscow edition of 1924 [see Zhilyaev’s list of corrections, p. 4 of that edition] and the complete edition of 1948.)

As P. V. Lobanov suggests, comparison of Scriabin’s interpretation of this movement with the account by E. A. Bekmann-Shcherbina of her study of the work with him shows a close resemblance in approach. [50]

The impetous character of the second movement as performed by Scriabin is a guide to the equivocal character of this movement (slower on average than the printed tempo but with a very considerable quickening in the coda sections.) As with the first movement, the contrasting second idea is played slower than the first, rather than quicker as suggested in the printed edition.

In the prelude op. 11 no. 1, at the return of the first section (bar 19) later editions print d2 at the end of the groups to achieve identity with the opening. Scriabin plays c2 as in the manuscript and first edition. The alteration d2 to c2 gives finality to this motive, and indeed Scriabin emphasises this quality with extra note attacks and dramatic pauses – Luftpausen within a constant motion, similar to those in the 2nd sonata finale.

A third type of alteration in text is rarer, and exists in pieces which were perhaps played very frequently in concert. A number of simplifications are adopted in the etude op. 8 no. 12, which certainly aid the impulsive onward movement of the performance. In contemporary concert conditions it seems impossible to adopt these. (Scriabin mentioned to Sabaneyev, possibly as late as 1913, that he was for the first time learning to play certain sections of the 4th sonata as written; he had previously sacrificed left hand details to achieve the tempo ‘on the border of the possible’ he wished for. [51] ) It is remarkable that Scriabin’s performance of the Etude coincides in some important elements with the much later ones recorded by Horowitz, most notably the non f beginning and the headlong final accelerando. [52]

A very beautiful reversal of movement in the left hand arpeggio at bar 10 in the Poème op. 32 no.1 is a strong candidate for adoption in present day performances, leading expressively and with a sense of ‘upsurge’ into the high D sharp of the following bar. We may say that this partially confirms the statement of Y. Engel’ that Scriabin’s alterations to his text were ‘always for the better’. [53] The rubato in the middle section of this piece is most remarkable and radically different from most conventional performances: after a hesitant start with a long ‘resounding rest’ in bars 15 and 16 a sustained accelerando is made until bar 20. This confirms a pencil note in Scriabin’s hand at bar 19 in a printed copy held at the Scriabin museum: ‘ardently quickening’. [54]

These ‘resounding rests’ suggest the ‘flying’ gesture of the hand recorded in a portrait in the Scriabin Museum attributed to Kustodiev (ill. 2). This allowed the music to ‘breathe’, defining such moments of rubato gesturally for player and audience. An example of such gesture in playing may be deduced in the prelude op. 22 no. 1. Here the tempo and dynamic are considerably increased and the notes are ‘pulled out’ of the keyboard (compare the account by Pasternak) instead of being played legato as in the printed version. As Pavel Lobanov comments, Scriabin has moved some way from his original conception of the prelude. The tightening of the written rhythm seems a demonstration of another ‘law’ stated by Scriabin to Sabaneyev:

‘After all, you can distort the rhythm as strongly as you like, but you must always make the listener feel that is the rhythm from which it came.’ [55]

It should be mentioned, however, that in other places (e.g. the Etude op. 8 no. 12 and the first movement of Sonata no.3) rhythms are indeed altered and broadened for emphasis.

Ill. 2. Scriabin performing on 2nd April 1915 in St. Petersburg (his last recital) Attributed to B. Kustodiev. Scriabin Museum, Moscow

Non-synchronisation of voices is a further type of rubato governed by the need for clarity and the law of the hierarchy of voices. The prelude op 11 no. 13 is a case particularly rich in examples: melody notes are anticipated (rarer than the habit of anticipating the left hand, and giving urgency to the expression) and where two voices sing alone together there is a gentle arpeggiation. This example also shows the free use of pedal to help with legato, freeing the hands for flexibility and colourfulness of expression, a ‘phrasing of rare vividness’.

The performance of Désir op. 57 no. 1 is also radically different from the dreamy mood evoked by many players. The impulsive rubatos and vehement manner of arpeggiation, whereby many chords are rearranged and at the climax the bass note is delayed till the end of the arpeggiation, convey a sense of urgency which is characteristically Scriabinesque.

To return to the prelude op. 11 no. 1, a sophisticated and musically dictated technical process can be observed from the transcription. The long lines are not physically played legato, though the pedal covers gaps to some extent. Upbeat notes are emphasised by slight separation; elsewhere, overlapping of the fingers shows a desire for harmonic unity. Phrase endings are shown by a natural Luftpause.

The cumulative effect of these details of Scriabin’s performance is to show the truth of Sabaneyev’s saying: ‘Scriabin’s vision is unified and unequivocal, but his notation is incomplete.’ [56] It has only been possible to give a few examples here. The transcriptions are an inestimable resource which richly reward study. The present writer suggests that such study should be started by listening to the recordings with the transcriptions to hand. The graphics help explain what is happening in the performance, and the experience will facilitate further reading of the transcriptions themselves. Such study brings with it a conviction that Scriabin’s performances, far from being arbitrary, were derived from and illuminate the content of his music – ‘as befits the composer’.

Acknowledgements: grateful thanks are due to the following:

Valentina Rubtsova, head of research at Scriabin Memorial Museum and editor of Uchënie Zapiski

Pavel Lobanov, senior researcher, Scriabin Memorial Museum (retired)

Andrei Golovin, composer, Moscow

Professor Vladimir Tropp, professor of piano at Moscow Conservatoire and Gnesin Academy

Evgeny Zhivtsov, chief editor, and the staff of the Taneyev research library, Moscow Conservatoire

Author’s Note: the book by Anatole Leikin, The performing style of Alexander Scriabin , Ashgate, 2011, which was in the press while the above article was written, covers the whole field very comprehensively, as well as reproducing many of Pavel Lobanov’s transcriptions – it is recommended as an invaluable resource for those who wish to study this subject thoroughly.

[1] A. B.Gol’denveizer, Aleksandr Nikolaevich Skryabin (Iz moikh vospominanii ) [from my reminiscences], in: A. S. Scriabin, compiler, A. N. Skryabin v prostranstrakh XX veka [Scriabin in the expanses of the 20th century], Moscow 2009, p.298.

[2] Letter to O. I. Monighetti, 7 th July, 1906. Manuscript, Scriabin Memorial Museum. Quoted from: A. Al’shvang, Zhizn ‘ i tvorchestvo A. N. Skryabina [life and work of Scriabin], in S. Pavchinsky, compiler, A. N. Skryabin. Sbornik statei [anthology of articles], Moscow, 1973, p. 94-5. It should be remembered that in the previous year Scriabin and Vera Ivanovna had parted, and that Scriabin was himself irritated by Vera Ivanovna’s concert performances of his works under her married name (her maiden name was Isakovich). ‘He physically could could not bear the way she played them.’ Gol’denveizer, op.cit. , p. 297. Goldenweiser (1875-1961) was a prominent pianist and a long-standing professor of Moscow Conservatoire.

[3] A.V. Ossovskii, Skryabin. Kharakteristika tvorchestva i lichnye vospominaniya [characteristics of creative work and personal reminiscences], from: A. S. Scriabin, compiler, op.cit.. p. 324. The performance, in Scriabin’s flat, took place in 1911. Ossovsky (1871-1957), a pupil of Rimsky-Korsakov, was a highly regarded writer on music.

[4] The Times, March 16 th , 1914.

[5] Pavel Lobanov, A.N. Skryabin – interpretator svoikh kompozitsii [Scriabin as interpreter of his own works] Moscow 1995. Aleksandr Skryabin: Izbrannye sochineniya v dvukh vypuskakh [selected works in two issues], Moscow 1998. Scriabin: Sonata no. 2 – Мoscow, 2007. Sonata no. 3, Moscow, Muzyka , 2010. See also P Lobanov: Rasshifrovka zvukozapisei v analize tvorchestva pianistov. [The transcription of sound recordings in the analysys of the creative work of pianists . ] in: Uchënie zapiski vol. 4, Мoscow, 2002. A. Latanza , Avtorskie zapisi Aleksandra Skryabina na mekhanicheskikh fortepiano [The composer’s recordings of Alexander Scriabin on mechanical pianos] in Uchënie zapiski vol. 3, Moscow, 1998.

[6] L. L. Sabaneyev: Skryabin, Moscow, 1916/1923, p.143.

[7] P. V. Lobanov, A.N. Skryabin – interpretator , p.10 .

[8] op. cit., p. 8. Sabaneyev, Skryabin , p.139.

[9] V. V. Rubtsova, Aleksandr Nikolaevich Skryabin , Moscow, 1989, p. 20-21. E. Polishchuk, T. Rybakova, Rod khudozhnikov Shchetininikh [genealogy of the artist family Shchetinin] in Uchënie zapiski vol. 3, p. 100-101.

[10] L. A . Scriabina, Vospominaniya [Reminiscences], in Aleksandr Nikolaevich Skryabin 1915-1940. Sbornik k 25-letiyu so dnya smerti [anthology for the 25th anniversary of the day of his death] Moscow/Leningrad, 1940, p.11.

[11] op. cit. p. 10, 9.

[12] Yu. Engel’, A. N. Skryabin. Biograficheskii ocherk [outline of a biography], in Muzykal’nyi sovremennik [Musical Contemporary] 1916, no. 4-5, p. 13, 17.

[13] I. Bélza, Aleksandr Nikolaevich Skryabin , Мoscow, 1987, p. 49-51.

[14] L. L. Sabaneyev, Skryabin , p.137.

[15] op. cit. p.139.

[16] Yu. Engel’, A. N. Skryabin. Biograficheskii ocherk , p. 17.

[17] Emil Medtner , review of concert 16. 2. 1913, Muzyka 2/III 1913 No.119, p. 163.

[18] L. A . Skryabina, Vospominaniya , p.13.

[19] Yu. Engel’: A. N. Skryabin. Biograficheskii ocherk. p. 19.

[20] M. L. Presman: Ugolok muzykal’noi Moskvy vosmydesyatix godov [A corner of musical Moscow in the ‘eighties], in Z. Apetyan, compiler: Vospominaniya o Rakhmaninove [Reminiscences of Rachmaninov], Mosocow, 1961, vol. 1 p.161-162.

[21] L. A . Skryabina, Vospominaniya , p. 13.

[22] M. Nemenova-Lunts: ‘A.N. Skryabin-pedagog’ [Scriabin as teacher], in Sovetskaya Muzyka 1948, vol. 5, p. 58-59.

[23] Robert Schumann, letter to his family, 17.4.1832, in Clara Schumann, ed: Jugendbriefe von Robert Schumann , Leipzig, 1886, p. 166-167. Letter to Clara Wieck, 6.2.1838, in B. Litzmann, Clara Schumann. Ein Künstlerleben, Leipzig, 1903 p. 179.

[24] M. P. Pryashnikova, O. M. Tompakova, Letopis ‘ zhizni i tvorchestva A. N. Skryabina [Chronicle of the life and work of A. N. Scriabin], Moscow, 1985, p. 37.

[25] Quoted from E. N. Rudakova, compiler, Aleksandr Nikolaevich Skryabin , Мoscow, 1979/1980 p. 127.

[26] Yu. Engel’: A. N. Skryabin. Biograficheskii ocherk. p. 26.

[27] Mark Meichik, Skryabin , Мoscow, 1935, p. 9. Safonov studied with Louis Brassin (1840-1884), a pupil of Moscheles, from 1879. L. L. Tumarinson, B. Rozenfeld, compilers, Letopis’ zhizni i tvorchestva V. I. Safonova [Chronicle of the life and creative work of V. I. Safonov], Moscow, 2009, p. 51.

[28] Yu. Engel’: A. N. Skryabin. Biograficheskii ocherk , p. 26-27.

[29] M. P. Pryashnikova, O. M. Tompakova, Letopis ‘ zhizni i tvorchestva A. N. Skryabina , p. 32.

[30] Loc. cit .

[31] L. L. Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya o Skryabine [Reminiscences of Scriabin], Moscow, 1925/2003, p.149.

[32] M. Nemenova-Lunts: ‘A.N. Skryabin-pedagog’, p. 60.

[33] M. P. Pryashnikova, O. M. Tompakova, Letopis ‘ zhizni i tvorchestva A. N. Skryabina , p.37.

[34] L.L. Sabaneyev, Skryabin , p.11.

[35] A.V. Ossovskii, Skryabin. Kharakteristika tvorchestva i lichnye vospominaniya , p. 318.

[36] M. Presman , Vospominaniya [Reminiscences], in Aleksandr Nikolaevich Skryabin 1915-1940 , p. 34.

[37] Yu. Engel’: A. N. Skryabin. Biograficheskii ocherk , p. 26.

[38] Op. cit., p. 27.

[39] A.V. Ossovskii, Scriabin. Kharakteristika tvorchestva i lichnye vospominaniya , p. 326.

[40] L. A . Scriabina, Vospominaniya . – C. 13.

[41] A. L. Pasternak, ‘Leto 1903 g . ‘ [Summer 1903], in Novyi mir vol. XLVIII No. 1,1972, p.209. [Included in English translation in Alexander Pasternak, A Vanished Present , Oxford, 1984, p.79.]

[42] M. Meichik, Vospominaniya o Skryabine [Reminiscences of Scriabin]. Typescript, 1941, Scriabin Museum archive, p. 26-28.

[43] A. L. Pasternak, ‘Leto 1903 g . ‘ p. 210.

[44] A more recent recording, made by Ken Caswell, is available on Alexander Scriabin: The Composer as Pianist (Pierian 0018) .

[45] L. L. Sabaneyev, Scriabin , p. 139.

[46] [footnote added by V. V. Rubtsova, editor of Uchëniye zapiski :] It is possible that ties were put into the manuscript by Scriabin. We can neither refute nor affirm this, as the manuscript has not survived.

[47] Tatyana Shaborkina quotes, unfortunately without giving a source, a review stating: ‘His playing began to resemble the most inspired improvisation’ .T. Shaborkina , Zametki o Skryabine-ispolnitele [Remarks on Scriabin as a performer], in Aleksandr Nikolaevich Skryabin 1915-1940 , p. 220.

[48] L. L. Sabaneyev, Vospominaniya o Skryabine [Memoirs of Scriabin], Moscow 1925/2003, p. 93.

[49] L. L. Sabaneyev, Skryabin , p. 134.

[50] E. A. Bekman-Shcherbina, Moi vospominaniya [My Reminiscences], Moscow, 1982, p. 98-99.

[51] L. L. Sabaneyev, Reminiscences of Scriabin , p. 296-297.

[52] E.g. the1962 performance included in the CD Horowitz plays Scriabin, Sony 0904452001.

[53] Quoted from: A. Al’shvang, Zhizn’ i tvorchestvo A. N. Skryabina, p. 92.

[54] P. V. Lobanov, A.N. Skryabin – interpretator , p.113.

[55] L. L. Sabaneyev, Reminiscences of Scriabin , p. 298.

[56] L.L. Sabaneyev, Skryabin, p. 139.

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Setting Description Entry: Forest
Becca Puglisi is an international speaker, writing coach, and bestselling author of The Emotion Thesaurus and its sequels. Her books are available in five languages, are sourced by US universities, and are used by novelists, screenwriters, editors, and psychologists around the world.
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LEVEL 3: CREATIVE PARAGRAPHS The forest we entered was oak-brown and primitive. The grasses we stepped on were crackly beneath our feet because of the recent dry spell. We were in awe of the size and majesty of the trees. Their knotted arms rose ever upwards, as far as my head could lift. They were hoary fortresses and stood proudly.
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