002 – Vindolanda, Spirit of Place
Photograph - Chris Burn
“Vindolanda gets under your skin.”
That’s what I was told on my very first visit to the site, back in November 2024, when I came to scope it out before applying for the residency. It wasn’t the last time I’d hear it either—and it didn’t take long for it to start feeling true.
At the time, I took it as a figure of speech. The sort of thing people say about places that mean a lot to them. But now, with the residency behind me and conversations still replaying in my head, I can see it’s something deeper. Vindolanda really does get under your skin.
The place hums with memory. Beneath the surface lies a vast, layered history of human presence—built, dismantled, built again. It’s not just a historical site; it feels alive. The cycles of construction and decay echo something bigger than just military life—it’s a cycle of claiming, offering, living on and with the land.
There are layers everywhere—layers of thought, time, soil and multiple generations of archeology. Things partially revealed, half-erased, analysed and reconsidered. Every artefact, every path run, every conversation feels like I’ve been brushing back a little more of the past and at the same time revealing my own understanding of the site.
Being here as an artist-in-residence hasn’t just been about looking from the outside. It’s been about tuning in—listening carefully and collaborating with the staff and volunteers. I’ve found myself slowing down, becoming more aware, more open, and more able to follow my instincts. Always listening...
The voices of visitors and volunteers mulling over what life might’ve been like 2,000 years ago.
Staff remembering their favourite finds from years gone by.
The weather shifting fast.
The light, the smells, the mood of the place changing from hour to hour.
Time stretches strangely at Vindolanda—there’s an elastic tether between what’s just been unearthed and what’s been buried for centuries.
I’ve had a lot of help during the residency. Many people have shared their knowledge, experience, and generous amounts of time—archaeologists, academics, volunteers, front-of-house staff, archivists, and visitors. But one relationship in particular has helped me to cement my understanding of the site: my friendship with Chris Burn, groundsman at Vindolanda.
Chris has worked at the site for over 15 years. He’s out there in all weathers and knows every inch of the place. We shared lunch regularly and chatted most days I was on site. His knowledge is rooted in experience—the kind you can’t get from books. Chris has an elemental awareness of the landscape, shaped by years of working with it. We also share a love of wildlife, particularly birds, and that became a kind of touchpoint in our conversations.
His understanding of the ‘spirit of place’—practical, poetic, and hard-won—has fuelled my thinking more than he probably realises. So this post is also a thank you. Cheers, Chris!
They were right—Vindolanda does get under your skin. And I suspect that long after the project has concluded, it will still be there: a layer that can’t be brushed away.
As I look back on my time here, I’m realising how many threads have begun to weave their way into the work—threads pulled from the land, the people, the stories, and the quiet moments in between. In the next post, I’ll write about how running through this landscape—albeit slowly, and for the first time—offered me a different way to understand Vindolanda’s position in the vast Northumberland landscape.
DA