Category: Uncategorized

 

Ink and charcoal on paper.  Dura Den, Fife.

 

 

Leith 2016.

Imperial grain silo and Stothert and Pitt crane, Leith.Mixed media on canvas – 50cm x 50cm.

Daltons scrapyard sign, Constitution street, Leith. Mixed media on paper – 50cm x 30cm

An unseasonal warm wind bustles shoppers along the street. Tenement windows are pushed open. A woman leans out, arms folded, watching whats going on, more a picture of summer than December. I meet a pacifist anarchist Polish man in a charity shop. He says he was depressed in Poland and moved to Scotland because he likes the multiculturalism here. He is attempting to display a box of crockery but doubts his aesthetic skills. Seagulls glide the currents of air, Christmas lights reflect in the puddles at the kerb. A woman shows me the artificial tree she has bought and the spray snow for her living room. Says it will cheer her up seeing as she lives on her own, her son stays with her mum and dad. ‘Nice to have met you, I’m off to the dentist. Too many sweeties’, she laughs. A waitress pulls down the shutter on the cafe. Skinny young men stand drinking, ‘Aye, weel, nah, see, if you buys some, aye smoke it wi’ folk you ken’. Twin boys in matching anoraks and bobble hats run, helterskelter, laughing, shouting, birling through the scheme. It is getting dark. A man hefts a Christmas tree over his shoulder and turning says ‘See you efter pal’. I walk to where the road ends.

Mixed media on paper – 30 x 30 cm.

 

Mixed media on paper – 77cm x 56 cm

 

 

Ink, charcoal and gesso on paper –

Leith was an independent burgh with its own provost, magistrate and council up until 1920 when it was suggested that it merge with Edinburgh. A referendum of Leithers was held who defiantly rejected the proposal 26,810 to 4,340 votes. However the vote was ignored and the merger went ahead anyway.

 

 

Ink and charcoal on paper 77cm x 23cm

Detail.

 

In the sharp low sun scaffolders swagger, their tools singing out a song for Leith. Ice on the water traps violet streaks of diesel and pigeons coorie doon on the south side of roofs. In a cafe, ceramic figurines of black minstrel singers stare out at the street their mouths wide in silence. It is 2016.  ‘Hiya doll, how ya doin’?’ ‘Three bacon rolls and two stovies.’ ‘Yous waitin’ for fried bread?’ I meet David who is looking for his brother at the bus stop. They are going to get their hair cut. He has spent the morning at a men’s group at the YMCA. He tells me they cook together- macaroni cheese, apple pie, all sorts. Says it gets him out of the house, and he enjoys the craic. Along Ferry Road I am thinking about the ‘dazzle’ ship moored at the docks whilst walking past a tanning salon that offers vajazzles. I chuckle, playing the sounds of the words around in my head. A couple kiss at the pedestrian crossing. The launderette is still here where I would soak in the warmth and whirrings, a place for conversation or introspection depending on the day, a space for thinking. The sun casts long shadows on the street.