dominique cameron RSW

Leaving the harbour with the smell of diesel under a grey duvet sky, past the Harland and Wolff yard and the sleeping seals on the rocks below the giant turbine. A shag flies over the stern and eider ducks bob. Trying to draw the land from the sea as the boat shuggles this way and that . A slag heap from the old mines, an oil rig out in the Firth. A landscape of energy – coal, wind and oil all within sight. A breif cast for mackerel. Not biting, we head back.

Charcoal, acrylic and collage on wood – 44 x 44 cm.

After the rain the smell of summer rises from the field with the skylarks in tow. Swallows swing on the telephone wires, dive low over the barley. Honey suckles its way through the hedgerow, daisies turn their heads to the sun.

The wind flaps shed doors on too small hinges, ripples a delaminating plywood roof. A constant state of nearly undone. Slatted sun under the pier, rain on its way.

Rannoch. Walking. Here we find our feet. I didn’t do half the things I wanted to do says Mum. Do it now before it’s too late, tell the boys. Just look at that will you ! Spread out before us. Our selves stop. Perfect. Still. Grinning.

Climbing the hill and up above the tree line the whole Moor opens out, a moth eaten tablecloth holey with lochans and boulders. Every step higher brings more into view, a feast for the soul. A skylark rises singing as if to say I told you it would be braw, up here, in the sweetness of wild air. A pibroch for Rannoch.

East coast grey, some might call it silver, depends on how full your glass. Today there is a slight sparkle on the water as the small boats make their way back to their moorings. Swallows skim low over the sea, rising sharply before the seawall and back around to dock number two. I am drawing the stuff of fishing – creels and buckets, flags, poles and other useful things, spilling out, a guddle, fankle of ropes. I look out beyond the walls of the harbour to the island in the Forth and beyond, the Pentland Hills, their edges rubbed graphite on paper. The only cololur here is that of tackle, buoys and boats of course – neons of orange and yellow and saltire blue. Everything crossed for the football tonight.