Rivers and Tides (2001)

A portrait of the artist Andy Goldsworthy, a sort of sculptor and weaver of natural ephemera… A web of soil-blackened bracken pinned together by thorns—a giant cone of flat stones that weathers in the collaborative embrace of the sea—a winding worldserpent of a wall built of drystone where once colonists laid claim to Canada—and more nameless myths besides. Each section starts focused on the artist, letting him simultaneously discuss his work and lay out his artistic philosophy of collaboration with nature, humility in seeking understanding, and rejection of the trivialities and falsehoods of pastoralism. Meanwhile, his rough, bloody hands pluck thorny plants and heave stones and grasp icicles. It draws you in, all oblique angles and close-ups until the one explosive revelation of the finished work (or, in a few cases, collapse). Perfectly underscored by Fred Frith's intimate, experimental soundtrack, just as varied and interwoven as the ecologies that inspire the artist.