Category: Journal

 

 

 

Study – mixed media on paper.

 

Sketch from Galloway trip this week.

Old, gnarly hawthorns lean into the westerly winds.

 

Ink and gouache on paper – 21 x 30 cm.

 

A gloomy, growly dog of a day. It feels like it might bite, yet. A pack of dark grey clouds pummel in from the west. Every now and then the Forth is sunlit – an ocean liner sparkles, watched by the stone submarine of the Isle of May guarding the entrance to the North sea. Wind turbines mutter, busy, inattentive to the two swallows buffeted by the strong winds. Carole tells me about the storm last week . They lost an old apple tree and the power went off for a few hours. That was all. The combining finished yesterday and now its ploughing and seeding , no let up for at least another month. Wellies scatter outside the back door at tea time, curling stones hold open a byre door. The trees are starting to turn, sycamore leaves are crisp in the high drying winds. Orange baler twine, burnished broon conkers, the musty yellow of dried wheat, brick red pan tiles stacked in crates, these are the colours here on the hill.

 

Watercolour drawing .

 

 

I wake up listening to the wind. It whines and roars in troughs and peaks, wheeking, skirling, birling, blowing a hoolie through this forest of buildings. Looking out of the window the palm trees are bent double, a lamp post wobbles. Torrents of water, rubbish flies through the air. The windows opposite have tape stuck to them, dozens of saltires, preparing to repel the damage of the bomb blast gusts. It feels as if the city is under siege, and yet curiously we all want to go out and feel what its like. Outside the streets are all but deserted. The rain lashes in waves . A man steps out and tells me to stay safe. We all take pictures but none tell the story of what this is really like. Signs, trees blown over, yet the seven eleven is still open. Lights flicker, sparrows hop from doorway to doorway. Cockroaches escape the rising tide of water. Slams and things falling. Emergency vehicles siren past. People in plastic ponchos run, the odd taxi still cruises the streets looking for a fare. A sudden gust booms and I hide behind my grown up son, unaware at that moment of the regime change that has just taken place. I laugh at this new turn of events and how my sons are now the ones who need to protect me. The eye of the storm passes over and gradually the wind moves north. A friend messages saying it can’t have been worse than Orkney . Hmmmm…..A different kind of scary.

 

 

Sketch from Hong Kong.

 

 

ink and gouache on paper – 28 x 38 cm.

 

Ink and charcoal on paper – 44 x 38 cm

 

 

Cool, bright morning.The sun casts long, sharp shadows, clouds like barges drift southwards. Buzzards circle, calling and the crows in the tall ash respond. Willows creak at the edge of the pond in the swithery wind. I meet an old man who stays with his son but wants to go back to his own house unsure when that might be or the geography of where it might be. His dog sits patiently at his feet. He wishes me well and I walk on to the farm. Nut brown mushrooms in the fields, house martins tumble. The day is set fair and I am to get a longed for ride in a combine harvester. Ali tells me when his grandfather came to the farm he was told it was only good for stock but with improvements to the soil and drainage the soil  is now so good Ali won best in Show at the Royal Highland Show a couple of years ago. I squeeze in the combine next to Raymond and we set forth. It is like being on a boat – a sea of wheat is carved as we progress as a bow through water. The machine jostles and bumps throwing up sprays of dust. We have a couple of mechanical hiccups and after the second mishap I begin to feel as if I might be in the way or perhaps, (and I laugh) I am an ill omen similar to the superstition of sailors who thought that women on fishing boats brought bad luck. Resisting the temptation to say this I decide to leave them to it and after my goodbyes walk down the track with the wind in my sails.

sketch – charcoal on paper.