The late September sun catches something liminal, a tiny flash of golden light glints gossamer in the corner of your eye. You follow long delicate strands to late blooming lavender, a terracotta flowerpot. Following these long threads takes you on a journey of intricate complexity and extraordinary beauty, tracing new patterns in familiar places which connect life and vessel with great artistry. Drawn into this web, the connections circle in time and space, round and round. Spiralling to the centre, your vision finally rests on the creator of this world. She is Orbweaver.
Otherwise known as the commonplace Garden Spider, Orbweaver is a member of the Araneidae family. Their webs are circular, and start out when these spiders cast a line on the wind. They are often woven seemingly in thin air, with few anchor points for silken scaffolding.
Starting out on a PhD research project feels like the work of Orbweaver. There is a web to be woven, a world to be written in time and space, and lived. It has to be an ecosystem and the dedication must be constant, unweaving and re-making the web as a rhythm: connect, weave, articulate, act, create, rest, repeat. Ideas and new bodies get caught in the web, then must be eaten and digested. Orbweaver may connect her threads to the work of others, but is largely independent in her work. An embodied sense of purpose drives her, with an attitude of improvisation and chance alongside ancient modes of working and doing.
In Druidery, Spiders are the guardians of ancient languages and alphabets. The Ogham (a Celtic writing system) can be found within the shapes and angles of a spider’s web. Writing is a kind of web. The way I write starts with a few starting points and ideas, and then I see what happens. Usually I don’t have a plan for what I want to say, it just kind of emerges as I write. My aspirations writing-wise are going to involve a lot more planning and structure than this, which as a neurodiverse researcher is going to be a challenge. It will also be exactly the right medicine. The way I write is like the way I live, which is the way I do everything. It is a good way, but I have historically struggled to sustain my fragile webs through distraction, overloading myself and lack of attention. I intend for this process to change me, and re-order my sense of many things.
The medicine of Spider is to realise the impact of decisions (or lack of). It is to embrace the intuitive alongside structure. Her natural sense of pattern becomes a core skill for weaving distinctive worlds, whilst valuing their delicacy. If the web is broken or destroyed, she will simply start again from a new place. Ephemeral and eternal all at once. Taking these ideas as a metaphor for creativity, I think we need to be able to manifest something tangible from these webs - and to connect to the webs of others with enduring relationships. I have learnt that constantly re-making the web is (although part of the work) very tiring indeed. Spider never exhausts herself by multi-tasking. She acts quickly when she needs to, and rests when not weaving. Daily.
Notice Orbweaver on your travels through these autumn months. What wisdom will she offer you?
A note on gender: I use ‘she’ in this piece because the Orbweavers found in their webs are probably female. Most species actually consume the males after mating (unless they manage to run away). Apparently in one species of Orbweaver found overseas, the male may even offer his leg as a snack during mating. These words are in no way intended to cause offence to the human male species, but if you are a male-presenting person perhaps nurture some thoughts about how you might support the women in your life to weave their webs. Whatever gender(s) you are or are not, how does Spider sit with you? If you are a woman, why not place yourself at the very centre of your web and take up some space. Just a few strands of thought there.