Confluence Studies

My last body of work ‘Symbiosis’ explored a search for connection and belonging, the importance of living symbiotically with the natural world and with a human community. This was viewed from the context of living somewhere I felt little belonging or connection to, therefore it was a deep, perhaps melancholic, longing that was the driver to these thoughts and that body of work.

These first paintings from my new studio here on the Isle of Bute further explore thoughts on our relationships to place, nature and each other. Part of me expected to find answers to all these wonderings with our move, however in the six months we’ve been here I have instead amassed an even longer list of thoughts and questions. For every one answered, another is asked.

Throughout the process of making these works, with their unpredictable layers of watery ink and repetitive marks, an imprint of time and noticing, I have realised that some questions are more significant than their answers.

‘Confluence’ describes what is happening in my work and life at the moment -

Confluence noun (con·​flu·​ence)

: a coming or flowing together, meeting, or gathering at one point

: a flowing together of two or more streams or rivers

: a situation in which two or more things join or come together

It feels like a natural movement from ideas of symbiosis, which dominated the paintings that followed my residency at Cove Park last year. Looking back, that time feels like the prologue to our move. Like all of the fear, anticipation, anxiety and subsequent realisation of comfort and ease, feeling embraced by a community, connected and aware of each other, nurtured and held, was a short trial run for this next chapter - as I find that same embrace here.

“The world is blue at its edges and in its depths. This blue is the light that got lost…

The colour of solitude and desire, the colour of there seen from here, the colour of where you are not.

Blue is the colour of longing, of distance”

- Rebecca Solnit ‘A field guide to getting lost’

I hope you enjoy this series of works, as a prologue to my solo show ‘Confluence’ which will open 12 August 2023 at Tighnabruaich Gallery. I look forward to sharing further works and having the opportunity to hear your thoughts.

Symbiosis Collection

Over the last year or so I’ve been considering the concept of ‘a sense of belonging’ and these thoughts and questions have increasingly started to show up in my practice. Early in 2021, for my exhibition at Tighnabruaich Gallery ‘Undertow’, I explored my own sense of belonging, or lack thereof, to the place I’ve lived all my life and the possibility of finding this connection somewhere else. A small series of works followed on from this exhibition, delving deeper into the relationships I’ve built with the villages of Cowal and its community, exploring the elements and experiences which forged these connections.

In early 2022 I spent a week long artist’s residency at Cove Park on the west coast of Scotland. I applied for this residency to further develop the significant shifts in my work over the last couple of years. To spend a period of focussed time physically removed from my ‘normal’ life and its responsibilities. To be fully and actively engaged with reading, writing and experimenting with my practice. I set no expectation of my time, no goals or outcomes to reach, but simply allowed the experience to unfold naturally.

The group of paintings I made immediately following my residency, which carried a working title of ‘Symbiosis’, speak of this experience, of the deeply symbiotic relationship with the landscape and constant connection to the natural world. The shifts in light and weather, the driving rain that stung my skin as I walked, the wind that whipped up the hill and howled through our building, the waves that moved my body in the loch and the glorious low winter sun that appeared through the clouds to light up the landscape. I was always conscious of the movement outside my window, boats travelling up and down the loch trailing white lines like a memory of their route, the wind moving the surface of the water, waves being pushed along until they break the blue-grey expanse with their wee white heads.

‘Remnants of Passage’

The work also explores the sense of community I found and the interconnectedness with my fellow Cove Park residents, albeit transiently, of our solitary endeavours. It considers how these interactions, the sharing of ideas, time, food and materials enhanced our experiences. I wasn’t sure what to expect from this part of the residency, I can be a bit shy and perhaps socially anxious with people I have never met, especially following the period of time we have all just experienced through the pandemic. Alongside the fact that this would be the first time I had ever been away anywhere alone, I was a little apprehensive. However, what I found was an instant feeling of total comfort and ease within a group of truly warm and open people. I felt immediately embraced by this small community we formed, the concept of what we were doing and in fact by the building itself, nurtured and protected from the elements.

As I moved layers of ink around on these canvases the memories of this time, of deep connection to people and place, replayed through my mind. Long hours in my studio making hundreds of tiny repeating marks as I considered the constant movement of nature, how we interact with it, our connection and relationships with each other and with the natural world.

‘A collective embrace’

In spite of ourselves

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3 billion years and 3 miles per hour

concrete walk

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A self-released series of works, which speak of our relationship with and experience in the natural world. Considering how humankind seeks control or stability, alongside connection, in the face of the landscape’s ostensibly wild and unpredictable nature.

The process begins with layers of free-flowing inks, staining the canvas in an organic chaos of overlapping colour and shape. I look for ways to find comfort and assurance, a gentleness within this chaos. Bringing in the confidence of a solid structure, a place of safety within reach. Remembering patterns of movement through the landscape; ripples in water, dancing light, the passing of time or our journeys on foot. Questioning. What affects these patterns, what changes our path and how does this experience define or change our relationship with a place?

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retracing our steps

that enduring light

to feel the warmth from the rock

the prospect of space

remember the sea lochs

as sure as the seabirds return

longing to roam

cradled in blue

The intimate support of water

Secret Regatta, Tighnabruaich Gallery 

June 2020

‘The Intimate Support of Water’

When I was young my family had a small boat on Loch Lomond, and we spent many happy days on the water exploring the loch’s bays, islands and islets. As one such day was drawing to a close, we were caught out by a storm. Rain and strong winds brought waves up over our boat, bouncing us around and tipping the contents of the cabin onto the floor. Although we averted disaster that night, eventually making it back to the safety of the River Leven after dark, for 12-year-old me it triggered an unease with water that has stayed with me into my adult life. 

This fear of deep water is something I have thought about increasingly in the last few years. A fear of the unknown, a whole world that exists below the surface where we cannot survive, a place that is unpredictable and, for me, frightening. I have, however, remained fascinated by water too and love being close to the sea, albeit from a secure and solid viewpoint.  The west coast and islands of Scotland is where I would always choose to be, with short ferry journeys being at the limit of my seafaring ability. 

In 2018 I created a body of work for the Tighnabruaich Gallery titled ‘Hush’, which explored Argyll’s Secret Coast, and sparked an enduring love for this area. My work at that time had mainly been focussed on the land, geological features and mountains, but the Cowal peninsula started to turn my focus to the sea - so often at your side in this place. One part of my research for ‘Hush’ was how the shape and formation of the landscape affects the surrounding waters. Learning about ‘exposure roses’, which measure the topographical shelter of an area of coast, how it protects the sea lochs and bays. Pouring over bathymetric charts, revealing the depths and underwater features hidden from view. Researching all this made me think, maybe if I know more about the behaviour of water and understand it better, I would fear it less.

When, last Summer, we took a family holiday to the Craignish peninsula in Argyll, our cottage surrounded by water on three sides, the draw was irresistible. We bought a canoe to take with us, however I doubted I would personally use it. The first time I sat in that boat, low in the shallow water of a small sheltered bay, the weight of my fear very quickly lifted. The water so clear I could see the all the way to the bottom, the fabric of the boat embracing my body as we drifted across the surface, I couldn’t quite believe how comfortable I felt. For the rest of that holiday all I wanted to do was paddle the canoe. I checked the charts for depths around the peninsula, the weather, wind speed, tide times and off we went. This increased knowledge, and the ability to constantly watch what the water was doing, seemed to be the key to making the whole thing feels much less frightening. 

For this new series of works I have been reflecting on my personal experiences of being on the water, about the movement of boats around the Secret Coast and of the different lines of travel transiently etched in the water. Using a mixed media of inks and water, on raw canvas and handmade paper, alongside areas and marks of thick acrylic paint, these pieces explore these thoughts. The loose flowing unpredictability of the sea, the shifting hue of the inks telling a story of depth. Disruptive marks and pattern dancing on the surface with the movement of the breeze. Warm light radiating through, touching the land and bleeding into the sea. The comfort and confidence instilled by the light and by solid ground, a nearby jetty, shore or rocky outcrop, a place of safety within reach. Lines of travel, sometimes bold and confident, sometimes more tentative and cautious but always with consideration of the nature of the water.  

There is a poem by the wonderful Scottish poet Norman MacCaig which has been repeating over in my head as I made this work, titled “True Ways of Knowing”. One particular line in this poem really hits on how I felt sitting in my canoe last year, feeling the fear dissipate.

 “…the way a boat would feel, if it could feel, the intimate support of water.” 

(Norman MacCaig 1962)

‘embraced’

Acrylic inks and paint on raw canvas, 71 x 71 cm

‘stillness in motion’

Acrylic inks and paint on raw canvas, 71 x 71 cm

‘slipping through last light’

acrylic inks and paint on handmade paper, mounted on cradled board, 30 x 30 cm

‘a way through’

acrylic inks and paint on handmade paper, mounted on cradled board, 30 x 30cm

‘stay close’

acrylic inks and paint on handmade paper, mounted on cradled board, 20 x 20cm

‘drift at the edge’

acrylic inks and paint on handmade paper, mounted on cradled board, 20 x 20cm

These works are exhibited on the gallery website here. I’m also pleased to announce that the gallery will be reopening to the public on 18th July 2020, where you will be able to see my paintings in real life!

she walks

In the spring of 2018 I started to really consider the development of my art practice. I had an overwhelming urge to explore new materials and consider what I really want to say with my work. So, I began to wind down my commission and exhibition schedule and made a plan to give myself some time.

I took up a sort of residency in my own studio and at locations on the west coast. I allowed myself a period of pressure-free, play and development time. Sketching with watercolour and charcoal, experimenting with acrylics and ink, I began to develop a new language with which to express my thoughts. 

At the same time I began to think deeply about how I see and experience the landscape, about my own place within it. I started to walk alone, something I never do. Asking myself questions like: Why do I walk the routes I do? Where do my fears and anxieties dictate or change my path? What sort of feature or circumstance makes me feel more or less comfortable when I’m outdoors? 

My reading list over this period has made a significant impact too, books like “Wild” by Cheryl Strayed, “The Last Wilderness” by Neil Ansell and “Wild Signs and Star Paths” by Tristan Gooley have accompanied me on many walks. Through this last book I learned about natural navigation and the technique of handrailing. A handrail is a linear feature, like: the coast, a ridge-line, a row of fence posts, a defined path or a stream which can be easily identified and followed. 

When walking with a companion I don’t think about navigation too much, I tend to follow whoever I’m with. However, when walking alone, of course, I’m in control of where I’m going. Considering what my routes look like when I’m alone I realised I was using handrails for navigation purposes but also to combat my unease with being alone. Part of my anxiety around walking alone comes from a fear of getting lost, so I find great comfort and confidence in having a ‘landmark’ in my sights. It suddenly made sense to me that, especially when walking on my own, I always prefer to be near the coast, on a marked path or amongst mountains - they are my handrail, my comfort and companion.

This period of thought and exploration has provided me an abundant source of inspiration for the artwork I’m currently making. Working in a truly expressive and personal way with new materials, these images speak intimately of my connection to, and experience in, the landscape.

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Over this year I amassed thousands of words of notes. As I don’t consider myself to be much of a writer, I asked my partner if he would read my notebook and offer some insight into my thoughts and motivations to accompany the abstract images I have made.

He picked up on the pivotal moment in an entry from July 2019 - written in a rented cottage on the southernmost tip of Craignish Peninsula, Argyll - and gifted me the following poem:

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She walks

didn’t want to go his way

almost didn’t go anywhere

but into my head

and I can get stuck in there

breakthrough

I can do this alone

just to be, here

should I go further  

forgetting my fears

finding the edges

a line in the land

this comfortable silence  

a line in the sand

a lone woman walking

and working through stuff

and being, and seeing

and being enough

Sam Kilday, 2019

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The distillation of months of thinking, walking, reading, painting, and changing are in those twelve lines after the breakthrough (which could easily have been a break-down). I decided that each of my new works would be titled with a line from Sam’s poem.

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I can do this alone

just to be, here

should I go further

forgetting my fears

finding the edges

a line in the land

this comfortable silence

a line in the sand

a lone woman walking

and working through stuff

and being, and seeing

and being enough

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READING LIST

Wild - Cheryl Strayed

The Last Wilderness - Neil Ansell

Wild Signs and Star Paths - Tristan Gooley

Surfacing - Kathleen Jamie

Creative Block - Danielle Krysa

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Processes

Using colour and form to produce a study of earth forces which shape our landscape.

Process series, Jane Hunter, 2018

Intrusive

Extrusive

Unconformity/Layer/Fault/Dyke

Collision/Thrust/Sequence/Columnar

Pluton/Dyke