Dusk, Lochmaddy
Every night since I returned to my home in Cornwall a week ago I have dreamed of being in either the Hebrides or Orkney. I have awoken each morning with a sense of that space, lightness, intense colour, and clean air. That sense of having lightness all around (even in the rain) is powerful and lingers in my consciousness. There is also the scent of peat, of hillsides of heather in bloom, the salty breath of seaweed and tide.
I returned from Scotland with peat which I had dug out of the sides of banks with my fingernails. Just two tiny bags of the dense black stuff which I want to get into my drawings, to help me return to that sense of earthy connectedness which down south I cannot seem to find so readily.
On North Uist and on Lewis I saw strips of peat cut into the hillsides. I saw peat stacked in blocks as it has been for centuries. I walked the pathways of the peat cutters. I walked past lichen – the raw materials of the palette of Harris Tweed weavers – and I felt the colour of peat-seep-blood-sea, milky serpent-breast-sea, blue-sky-sea, cloud-billowing-sea, lime-algae sea, yellow-petal-impossible-colour-blooming-sea, grass-orange sea coming into my veins as I stood in the weather, water beneath my feet.
North Uist
Aird Uig, Lewis
Peat stack, N. Uist
I worked with the rain in my face and the sun on my head making drawings. The wind prevented large scale work so I focused on the heart of what I was experiencing to make drawings in sketch books.
Peat birds
Every day on Lewis and Harris I saw golden eagles. One morning a large paddle-winged eagle flew low over my tent.
I would lay in bed in my tent every morning and listen to the wing beats of ravens. They would fly low when no people were about. There was a particular quality to the sound of their wings pushing air down, with the rhythm of a heartbeat.
One large raven often flew with its beak open. I stood and watched them. On the enormous expanse of Ardroil Sands the ravens flew circles and called to each other. They were always there. They are still there now.
Hebridean creature
colour drawing page
sea drawing page
swan cloud page
soft paws of mountains page
double page
Harris Sea, dusk
writing, landscape
colour, page from book
Embedded Eye, after Calanais Stones
I recently received a book which I’ve wanted for some time. It was sent by a friend who has gone to teach in Kyrgyzstan. I met him in the hostel on Iona, last October, before I travelled to London to be AIR at NOA at The RCA.
On that damp and windy morning we walked the mile together to the ferry, and spoke about our respective life journeys, and our work, and books which have been important to us.
We continued to speak on the ferry to Oban, then he went north to Aberdeen, and I went to London. I haven’t seen him since, but we have corresponded occasionally via email. I’ve spoken about aspects of my work which are close to my heart, and he has always responded with great generosity and kindness, which I’ve appreciated very much.
When I returned from The Hebrides there was a heavy parcel for me waiting at home. It contained a number of books which he sent to me, as he could only take a tiny amount of his possessions away with him. One of the books is called The Mountain behind the Mountain. I have only read fragments so far,but I know it is a vital book for me, speaking as it does of the importance of kindling the fire of the heart, as one kindles the peat in the hearth each morning on waking. Thank you Steven.