numinous landscapestudio updates, musings, and inspiration |
|
|
New Light - Acrylic, ink, pastel, on paper, 34x34 cm, 2020 |
|
|
11.10.20 New LightHorizons of the imagination Hello, and Autumnal greetings. Possibly my preferred time of the year. Today's theme is something I have been intending to write about for a while. If I recall correctly it was two years ago (or perhaps three, time being something of a trickster concept right now), walking with my friend Jon, from the Sussex town of Lewes out onto the hills around Mount Caburn, when I first thought of it. A bright autumn day, chill in the air, clear views south to the English Channel where the Ouse meanders its way through green pastures, and north across open expanse of the Weald. It was a great walk, refreshing, and with Lewes supplying numerous cosy pubs and fine Sussex ales (including the town brewed Harvey's). I know I'm not alone in wishing that the likes of this simple (yet vital) scenario was a straightforward possibility rather than distant reverie just now. We had been plotting something similar for this autumn season, but alas, I am in a 'local lockdown' scenario here in Wales, along with all the other travails various that are present for many of us at this time. The idea is quite straightforward: What are the boundaries of your terrain, territory, realm, or region, and what meaning do these places have for you? They need not be far flung places, but they might be. It could be an other side of the globe link to ancestry, family, a former or future home. My own choices have a very practical component, influenced by where public transport connections allowed for an easy day trip. However, it could be much smaller in range, but no less significant. The edges of your city, town, or village. Favoured or frequented places within that boundary. And as we have all now had a recent taste of being housebound, the four walls of our living spaces might have felt sometimes a prison, or a paradise, spurring us to re-imagine ourselves in relation to the places we inhabit. Specifically I am thinking of the locations that spark imagination, longing, and intrigue. What brings me to writing this now is the intention for it to form part of my own disrupted settling in process here in south east Wales, since moving from Scotland in March. When I type these pieces I tend to think of them more in terms of working something through, a part of creative process, rather than final pronouncements. I am not yet certain of my new boundaries, places, horizons, still having the sense of being only half arrived. The image at the top, New Light, was begun last December in Edinburgh, and finished only very recently, its creation spanning the period of my relocation and adjustment. This is a longer read, but if you care to join me we will continue on a journey to some places of personal significance, the hope being that it may chime with some new insight or correspondence for your own relationship to place. Off we go... |
|
|
Ben Vrackie, near Pitlochry, Perthshire, lies at the southern edge of the Cairngorms National Park. The train journey from Edinburgh was a small-scale northerly odyssey. Crossing the Firth of Forth over the famous bridge, then skirting the southern coast of Fife where sometimes basking Seals would be visible, before heading due North through the sumptuous and aptly named 'big tree country.' From that point it felt like the North properly began, with first glimpses of the higher hills, and crossing the River Tummel which flows from Loch Rannoch. On my first visit to Scotland, aged about 10, I remember staying not far from Pitlochry, so when I moved to Scotland this was one of the first places I visited, and continued to do so regularly throughout my residence. |
|
|
Taken from more or less the same spot as the previous image (which faces east), this is the view towards the North. In a different season on such a clear day the valley is a bright green, but this is from my final visit (February), and the image highlights the Cairngorm plateau as a line of glistening snow in the distance. This sense of 'so near yet so far' always sparked my imagination, and stirred familiar longings to travel further. On a couple of occasions I have stayed in Blair Athol which is almost visible in this picture, its small white castle a speck amongst the greens. Housed within are a bewildering array of antlers, and some amusing portraiture. |
|
|
This is my new North. Or perhaps more accurately the return to a previous one. The view from the northerly slopes of Sugar Loaf, Monmouthshire. When I last lived in Wales (twelve years ago) I used to visit this area regularly. This was the time when I first began to draw landscape, which just seemed to emerge quite spontaneously. This image was taken in July this year during my first (and so far only) visit since relocating in March. As I walked it struck me that there are some very distinct echoes of my previous northern boundary. A particularly distinctive peak (Sugar Loaf, below), a green valley stretching North with some signs of industry, and a more distant line of higher summits, in this case The Black Mountains. |
|
|
The above photo looking across Newport is taken from the top window of my home. In terms of height and substance there is really nothing of note between this flat and Exmoor to the South west. When the wind and rain sweep across from that direction it can be an elemental experience! Although not visible in the photo above, when it is clear I can see the outline of hills all along the north Somerset (and just about into Devon) coast. This image was taken during 'lockdown,' and I was reminded of Jack Kerouac's writing on his time as a fire lookout upon Desolation Peak. Not quite such dramatic surrounds here, but also quite flammable as it happens. Again the distant horizon is what attracts me most to this view, imagining myself into it. The picture below is the view towards where I now live, from Dunkery Hill on Exmoor. When the haze cleared I could make out Cardiff and Newport, around 35 miles away across the Bristol Channel. |
|
|
In Scotland I loved to travel down to the Borders, around 35 miles south from Edinburgh. Often overlooked by the traveller this is a marvellous part of the country, with so much to offer in terms of walking, and varied landscapes. Roughly speaking, the River Tweed marked my southern border. From Peebles where I would head high up onto the Southern Uplands (and back down again, straight into the utterly magical Bridge Inn), or heading east to the area of Melrose and the Eildon hills, and further out as the land flattens, where Kelso (a full two bumpy bus hours away, great journey though) was about as far as I went. The photo above (taken in 2017 when I first made my acquaintance with this area) shows the distant Eildon Hills, and the Tweed from Dryburgh. The second image is from a place upon on those visible hills, looking south into England, where the Cheviot range is just visible on the horizon. The Eildon area was somewhat reminiscent of my beloved South Downs, and the journey heading South, with views in the direction of that very distant and far from visible home held great importance. I had a very strong affinity with the place, its near luminous green shades, and deep red soil, I have never before seen the likes of. In terms of my art, this is the area which inspired adventures into acrylic, see 'Eternal Spring' as an early example. Many underfoot miles were covered during five years, including the Borders Abbey Way. It is worth taking a look at the map, to get a sense of the area, and how distant it is from significantly populated areas, by U.K standards. |
|
|
East Expansive beaches of sand, and fresh coastal air along the Firth of Forth, eventually opening out into the North Sea, with the next land being Scandinavia. |
|
|
Bass Rock (third lump from the left in the above photo) was a significant location for me in terms of arrival in Scotland. I knew of the Bass Rock, but had no idea where it was located. During my first week in Edinburgh I took the train to North Berwick and was amazed at the sight of this distinctly glowing island. The white sheen is Gannets, and their poo. A truly invigorating sight to watch them dive. I had begun to work on a postcard sized image in pencil, in an effort to just start something in my tiny room at the flat I was lodging in. I realised this little sketch bore a passing resemblance to Bass Rock. The following day I went to meet someone who was looking to share their studio space. They had many pictures up on the wall, a mixture of their own work and various cuttings and printouts. There was an easel with nothing on it, other than one small photo....of Bass Rock. Landscape was not this artists topic, and neither were any of the other images around of landscapes. So this definitely seemed like the right studio, and the first piece I made there (below) was inspired by this place. In terms of a Welsh east I am yet to define it. Perhaps it will be this side of the Wye Valley. |
|
|
West Perhaps most importantly of all, in terms of imagination, is the compass direction for which I had no place. Perhaps it could be Glasgow, a fascinating city with a distinctly lively atmosphere in comparison to Edinburgh, memories of train journeys and connections further out West, friends passing through, and cosy whisky drinking dens. But most of all 'West' was an open frontier. As with much of the landmass of the British Isles, the most wild, remote, mountainous lands are found to the west. So for me that was what it represented. Open space, Atlantic storms, island communities, journeying, possibility. I think that will probably remain the case here in Wales too. Cardiff lies just to the West, which also has a fairly convivial and unpretentious atmosphere. But beyond lies the Gower, Pembrokeshire, and to the north west we have the Brecon Beacons, and more distant Snowdonia. It seems important to leave that space in the mind's map, for ever-changing possibility. |
|
|
What links all of these places for me is partly about the mystery of, and longing for what lies beyond them, over the edge of the horizon, just off of the map. It can be an awe inspiring sense, that I'm sure we can all relate to, in our own ways. On a more subtle level this is only partly about the physical world and landscape, and has more to do with sensing beyond the visible. Paying close attention to what initially seems to be a feeling of absence —it is not here, it is over there, something apart from me— in a very particular way removes the sense of distance and separation, and the place, or longing, becomes present to us as something tangible within. Recognising and responding in this way to the presence of longing, returns us to the source of inward perceptions, our sensation. |
|
|
Paradise - Audrey Grant "Paradise brings together notions of Arcadia and Desire (Eros the god of love or Eros the Bittersweet). It explores the longing for that which we seek but can never truly find. It is this longing, this desire, that interests me and which motivates our searching in life and in the creative act." Another take on the importance of longing, which seems increasingly significant now. Audrey Grant is one of my favourite Scottish painters, this recent exhibition just about took place, occurring between various states of restrictions. These themes seem all the more significant given the timing. Paradise, longing, restriction, love. Following this link you will find previous exhibitions by Audrey, which are well worth seeking out. |
|
|
Jim Crumley My social medias streams are awash with 'nature writing' or references to the (ill-titled) genre, images of landscapes, encouragement to get outside and appreciate the living world, etc. But rarely (if ever!) do I see mention of Jim Crumley. His work stems from years of observation, experience, and writing of various kinds. He is not one for pulling the wool over your eyes by speaking of what he has not learned directly through real research - getting outside repeatedly, making observation of Nature his life's work. Through bright yet deceptively straightforward prose, Crumley repeatedly demonstrates tremendous insight, enjoyable narrative, strength of imagination, and his own character comes across in such a way as makes for good company, distinctly genuine. I would also recommend other more focussed writing on Beaver (Nature's Architect), Eagles (The Eagle's Way), and his part fictional work The Mountain of Light. I have visited the ancient Inn by Stirling Castle where the latter is partly set, and Crumley captures its atmosphere very nicely. |
|
|
BEEP 2020 Taking place in multiple venues in south Wales, BEEP 2020 exhibits a range of work by contemporary artists, and a programme of related events. Or so I've heard. Very much looking forward to visiting if the exhibition is still on once I can leave the borough! |
|
|
That was a long one, thanks for staying to the end. I would be very interested to hear about where you would choose as liminal locations that define something about you and the land(s) you inhabit. So please do get in touch if you would like to. Feel free to share this newsletter on social media, or privately amongst potentially interested parties. I am always pleased to hear from those who may have an interest in what I do, or simply to converse about the related themes. | | |
|
|
If you are not already subscribed to the mailing list... |
|
|
|
|