Ghost Trees is a masterful piece of storytelling essentially about grief and loss. But rather than being mawkishly sentimental, in the hands of the talented and intelligent Gary Stalker, it is a generous invitation to us all to consider our own sense of being and our connection to the natural world.  

The starkly beautiful set (uncredited) – an open space backed by five tall thin black monoliths suggesting stylised tree trunks – and the beautifully subtle lighting (Michael Goodwin) which waxes and wanes throughout the piece, provide the perfect environment for Stalker’s trek through memory, environmental concern and the loss of his wife. 

The death of his wife to cancer is mirrored by the death of trees to Kauri die back. In the hands of a lesser artist this conceit could have been forced and obvious. Stalker, however, manages to weave these strands in a totally satisfying and moving way, much like the network of the roots of the Kauri trees that he imagines underneath the cottage he shared with his wife. 

He mixes memories of his wife, scientific explanations of the virus that causes Kauri die back, poetry and simple dance-like movement in a way that gets into your soul. The ebb and flow between factual information, breath-taking visions of mist-shrouded forests and the remembrance of small domestic moments with his wife is seamless.

Stalker does not dwell in the emotion of his loss, rather he looks back on it from distance and therefore the piece never feels manipulative or overly sentimental. It is clear that his intention is not merely to produce empathetic responses in us, rather he wants to change our perception of the world and our place in it and beyond this prompt us to take some action, no matter how small. He clearly has great respect for the audience which allows us to engage with the themes of the piece in a deep, personal and fulfilling way.

Ghost Trees is incredibly personal but never self-indulgent. Everything about this piece is perfectly balanced. Stalker’s memories of his wife are never confronting or awkward. His narrating of the death of one of the Kauri trees on his property is just as moving as the death of a person.

Stalker is a unique performer. He moves with great ease both physically and narratively. The writing and performance are intricately detailed and solidly constructed. As an audience member you never feel that the piece is purely about the performer. He creates a space that distances us, performer and audience, from the sharp pain of his grief. He has passed through this suffering and has arrived in a place of grace and generosity that allows him to gift us an extraordinary and satisfying hymn to our own interconnectedness.

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