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‘Shall we go ?” – Acrylic on panel – 122 x 100 cms.

My solo show ‘Waterland’ with Fidra Fine Art is opening soon – the preview is the Saturday 17th May in the afternoon. The work is based on the landscapes of Rannoch Moor and Methil docks. Unlikely bedfellows at first glance but they share the same indeterminate state of being. The old wooden piers at dock number 3 in Methil and the bog of Rannoch inhabit both land and water in that they are neither one thing or the other wholly. This constant state of uncertainty proved to be an interesting starting point to think about not only the landscape itself but perhaps other outside influences on myself this year. This has been a multi disciplinary project with drawings, paintings, an installation and small sculptural works. I do hope you can make it along, if not for the opening but at some point over its run with Alan at the gallery. There will also be a talk hosted by Alan and myself exploring some of the themes in the project. No date yet for this but I’ll keep you posted, it will be sometime during the exhibition. The dates are May 17th – 22nd June 2025.

Dominique x

Mixed media on wood – 100 x 100 cms.

Oil on wood – 50 x 40 cms.

Pulling away from the city, sun drenches a Dutch painted landscape, skies all sharp blue and dazzle white clouded, flattening fields, pushing them inexorably toward the coast and the waiting North Sea. Picking up speed now, hurtling past wind stooped hawthorns, sewage works and Shetland ponies and a boy walking across a vast field with his head down. To my left, a group of Glasgwegians, off to the races. Tennents and banter. Turning, kneeling on the seats, hanging over the headrests, laughing, like bairns on a school trip. They are all my age. Loud, happy. Brick, houses, half timbered, gravel pits, conservatories, canals and traffic at a standstill. “Darling, if it’s too much then don’t, it’s your call, you’re in charge…….no I just thought…… no, I appreciate that, yes, I know, honestly you don’t have to…… ” The phone call ends. She turns to her daughter who says,”I don’t know why you bother Mum. Why do you?” “Because I love her”. Outside the day pulls us closer to London. Where is the point where the countryside ends and ther city begins ? I always try to look for the edge but am always left disappointed as the frontier blurs, seamless almost. Yet there is a change, perhaps it could be the combined weight of people and their stuff that causes the light to constrict, where the Flemish sky admits defeat, retreating as we push on through Betjamin country and the long ago, lost, Utopian suburbs. I turn back to my phone and scroll through the flotsam of ill advised words and the world does indeed dim slightly.

Methil docks this morning. The sun is shining but there’s a cool wind from the south east numbing my fingers. A few creel boats are out in the Forth but not busy. Gulls sook in the sun on the corrugated warehouse roof. Eider ducks bob. A small boat squeaks against its fenders and the pier pilings with every wave. An understated start to the day, police sirens, outboard motors and a startled pigeon blown in on the breeze.

A warming day in the hills this morning. Shoogling catkins, soft murmurs of Spring. A giant bird box high in an oak tree. Higher up the ground is spongy, soggy, seeping into my left foot. I forgot there’s a hole. I always do . Shadows of cloud animate the southern flank of hills, a keen wind hurrying them through. Shovefuls of air and light and just enough heat in the sun to make me smile.

Lorries barrel between snow clouded hills,

Werner Herzog on the radio .

These last few days have been hard.

We bring back snowdrops and sympathy cards

and a tenacious geranium.

Raining, walking and drawing.

New Year near Kinloch Hourn. Look at it on a map and you’ll see its a road to nowhere or somewhere depending or how you look at things. But its also the middle of nowhere and I had forgotten how dark the night sky can be . The sound of water is everywhere below, above and across the dark stained moorland, rolling down the hillsides emptying into amber coloured burns, and finally into the river in the glen. Deer, buzzards, but little else out in this end of year weather. It is full of quiet, if you can ignore the rain, such a fullness of silence, it is just the place for new ideas.

A very happy new year !

Dominique x

Hithe is an old word for landing place. Oil on wood – 20 x 25 cm .

The peat rises above the surrounding fields, bog cotton muffling the wind, softening its gallop over the moor. A shelter of Scots pine catches the sun. A woodpecker flashes high up in the branches. Moss deckles the edge of darkest water.