Rising Trees

The nearby Heverlee Forest offers a gentle refuge, a quiet sanctuary. An invitation to slow down, walk, or cycle among its majestic beech trees. I was deeply moved when, within a brief time, several of these towering giants had fallen, uprooted by unseen forces.
Since then, I have returned to the forest again and again, each time with a different group of participants. Together, we honour the fallen trees through a ritual of imprinting. We ink their bark, gently lay linen over their trunks, and press to capture their form. These prints—tree shrouds, as I call them—are acts of remembrance, reverence, and reconnection with the natural world us humans are part of.
This ritual is not only about saying goodbye. It is about listening to the silent wisdom of trees, about witnessing the eternal cycle of life and death that nature so gracefully reveals. It is a space to feel, to reflect, and to remember that we, too, are rooted in something greater.
Rising Trees invites us to pause and honour what has passed, while opening ourselves to what still flows. Participants often share that they never look at trees the same way again. They no longer pass by without noticing their presence, their stories, their souls. The result of each ritual is a striking imprint of the tree’s skin, a vast fingerprint, a silent testament to its life. A piece of art. A memory. A message.