For centuries, forest has marked the edges of mankind’s domain. Across Europe, North America and the Far East, humanity has had to carve living space out of the great temperate forests. Much of the world has a long history of being in close proximity to these green wildernesses. Forests are strongly symbolic of the cycle of life, from the growth of spring and the flowering of summer to the decay of autumn and the barren emptiness of winter. Frequently trackless, inhabited by potentially dangerous animals, forests are places of danger and trickery.

Where the jungle is an unsubtle, all-out attack, forests are subtler – a familiar presence, outwardly calm and tranquil, but firmly marking the boundary of man’s authority. Where the desert is stark and revelatory, forests seemingly take joy in shading and dappling, defeating the sun, blurring and softening everything into uncertainty. Vegetation is in control here, unregulated; the domain of the earth mother, the feminine principle. The heavens – and Heaven itself – are hidden in forest, out of sight, out of control.

Accordingly, there is a long association between forestry and the unconscious mind, which is often seen as feminine – forests are home to fairy tales, legendary bandits and monsters, witches and wizards, and all manner of magical presences. The trees themselves are reminiscent of temple columns, but what terrifying god or goddess could need such a vast church? Children’s stories are full of forest dangers from the Big Bad Wolf on downwards, a symbolic journey into the frightening subconscious.

As a marked boundary, forests symbolise the frontier, thresholds, the unknown. Journeys into them are seen as initiations, tests and challenges; to return is to be reborn, the uncertainty of the unconscious laid to rest. Forests are the fringe of darkness that lurks on the edge of civilisation, a space where we can project our deepest anxieties and fears.