Author: dominiquefcameron

76 x 56 cm – acrylic and watercolur on paper.

Two hours of plein air painting . Big seas, near gale force winds and frozen hands. Wouldn’t be anywhere else .

Reflections of thin birch shiver in a dark pool. These woods are pitted with small circular coal scrapings from another age. A deers velvet antlers glow in the half light as a buzzard skews its presence. The wind picks up, veering to the east. Means cold. I startle a hare, it hurdles dead thistles, grass, away. First spots of rain.

watercolour pencils on paper.

Nobbly rocks, sea glass, driftwood.

A dreich morning gives way to a sharp cold sun in the afternoon. Walking across the stubbled field icy splinters of nippy wind smart and I bury my head deep into the collar of my coat. Along the field edge I spot a shard of blue and white pottery sticking out of the mud. Is there a field anywhere that doesn’t have bits of once used and cherished bowl, platter or teacup ? Rubbing the smoothed glazed surface brings to mind the other finds I have stowed away in various coat pockets. From acorns to pebbles, feathers to more blue and white pottery, they lurk in their darkness, my own hidden curation of walking. I turn my back to the field and look at the edges of the wood, the verticals of sun and shadow, watching the light recede into its own interior . A hasty drawing to think about this , an act of translation, from the original into a loose approximation of understanding. I walk back across the field scanning the earth this way and that, alert for the next piece for the collection.

150 x 150 cm – acrylic on canvas.

Hiharin is a word used in the ancient singing notation for the bagpipes called Canntaireachd. This phrase comes in a tune called the ‘Lament for Mary Macleod’. It is my entry for the 145th RSW exhibition held in Edinburgh .

Happy Hogmanay everyone and see you in 2026 ! x

A horse gallops past in the field next door, sets a thundering tempo, counting in a chorus of dissonant crows in the tall beech trees down the hill. A train in the distance pulls into the station, its plaintive horn ushers in a great commotion from a donkey beyond the trees. Rustlings of small animals amongst the stalks of spent thistles. A swans wingbeat overhead. Songs for a quiet day, unremarkable, unnnoticed by those indoors. The blue tits trembling insistence twinkles above it all, lifting the music to the roof of the soft, grey sky.

In this half light the world feels submerged, birdsong is muffled, dampened like the earth itself, heavy from days of persistent light rain. The bark of the Scots pines blacken the sky. A group of deer stand stock still in the cut field, staring at me as I pass beneath the trees into the woods. The hills in the distance have disappeared, life is stalling or at least slowing in this new, unknown landscape.

This is one of my first walks from my new house. It has been a hectic couple of weeks and I’m pleased to have found a few hours this afternoon for a wander.

A huge thank you to everyone this year for their support in all your various ways and I wish everyone the merriest of times this Christmas and Hogmanay and we’ll see each other again in the New Year.

Dominique x