Last drawing.




Charcoal on paper .

Swathes of wild garlic have turned the woodland floor emerald. A red squirrel bounces from tree to tree. The water is high in the burn, the current pushing against my legs as I wade across. For a few moments the sun comes out turning fallen beech leaves golden. A dead crow, its wings outstretched. A small creeping plant has leaves the colour of newborn mice, the sort of pink that is vulnerable, pulsing. I paint but my heart is failing. The wind picks up the paper and it hits me in the face. Maybe its time to call it a day. Washing my brushes in the burn I drop one and watch it float downstream. I pack up and walk back along the track, pausing to draw my way home.

Back and forth.



Ink on paperĀ  – 60 x 20 cm.

My time spent drawing this wood is starting to come to an end. Once I get back from Italy I only have a couple of weeks to get all the images and text ready for the catalogue which I am making with Iain Sargeant and Alan from Fidra . So I am feeling a little reluctant to let go of this space, which of course I will visit again but not in the same way. It is difficult to say how exactly a landscape changes with the intensity of a gaze required to try and articulate what this space is, what it means and how it feels. Over the months this place has become another of my homes, somewhere I have made my own. I have shown some family and friends where I work, but mostly, I have been here alone. I have a slim understanding of how this place works and like a person I understand its moods brought by the seasons and changing weather. This wood has been a friend and I shall miss it .