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Sunlight and Sargent

Above: Lime Tree. Leopold Place. Acrylic on 14×11″ wood. Rose Strang 2026

By the fountain, near the gate,
There stands a linden tree;
I have dreamt in its shadows
so many sweet dreams.

Thus wrote Wilhelm Müller in the 1820s, a few years before Schubert set it to music in his 24-song cycle, Winterreise. Der Lindenbaum (The Linden Tree, or Lime Tree) was the 5th song.

Müller’s poem goes on from summer reverie to melancholy when he passes the tree in winter. So it feels an appropriate quote for the start of this blog since I’m painting a lime tree in June in late September and I can feel the chill hand of winter in the air! Limes look surprisingly gothy in winter, with twisty, spindly black branches. You’d never guess they could become so gloriously lush and heavy with foliage.

Lime trees have become a bit of an obsession of mine recently. Their scent has always enchanted me, but this year I decided to explore them thoroughly and holistically; photographing and drawing the tree in its seasonal stages and paying attention to all facets of the scent. This year the beautifully fragranced blossoms arrived later than last year and seemed even more ephemeral. Probably because I was too busy to appreciate them, then summer’s gone in a flash.

I bought several samples of perfumes inspired by lime blossom, including a tiny half ml of pure lime blossom absolute. You can read about that on my perfume-related Substack page if you like! Lime Blossom at Leopold Place

Closely observing nature is a particular interest this year, and you can read about my interest in Goethean observation here Fairhill, but for this particular blog I want to explore the other inspiration behind today’s painting; Sargent.

John Singer Sargent. One of the most overlooked (in terms of posthumous accolade) painters that ever existed. He was at his height in the late 1800s and early 1900s, then impressionism, fauvism, futurism etc all happened, and Sargent’s beautiful painterly expression and observation was kind of dismissed as irrelevant.

Inevitably though, his work is enjoying a resurgence, in America anyway (where he lived part of his life) which will no doubt spread to the UK and Europe. He was born in Florence, Italy, to well-travelled American parents, and Europe was a huge influence. He enjoyed huge commercial success with his beautiful, flattering portraits of the upper classes, the most famous being Portrait of Madame X. Or his portrait of Lady Agnew.

If you only looked at the portraits, you would tend to agree that his work, while stunningly beautiful, isn’t heavy with meaning. It’s the watercolours and quick sketches of his later years that really entrance us now.

If you’re an artist who’s interested in painting light, his brilliance is dazzling, moving even. His brushstrokes, so fluid and seemingly effortless, seem to capture the very essence of what he observes, fleetingly and effortlessly. That’s always the way of truly brilliant people; to make it look effortless, when it’s not.

Then there’s the way you can lose yourself in the subtlety of tone he brings in to depict a wall. It’s mesmerising. He clearly felt free in watercolour, often capturing the beauty of men in an erotic sense, as he was gay. He always captured beauty, in all his subjects, and this was simply too ‘nice’.

He was also criticised for the fact that he didn’t use watercolours ‘properly’. Hilarious to us now, the idea of a ‘proper’ way to paint. I mean, there are rules for things like preventing ageing in terms of materials, or damage to paintings, but the idea that there has to be a technique such as ‘light to dark’, or that you shouldn’t use gouache on top of water colour appears ridiculous to us now.

Given I had a deadline for today’s painting I decided to paint in fast-drying acrylics rather than oils. I also decided to use acrylics like water colour, in transparent washes, but using Sargent’s approach of dark to light, then adding opaques. I didn’t really stick to that in the end, but it gave some lovely fresh results that help me understand how he worked so rapidly.

With that in mind it’s interesting to look at one of his watercolours – I’ve added this as I think it’s ok to post the link and credit here:

 

 

 

 

 

(Landscape Watercolor Study by John Singer Sargent. Source nga.gov.  https://www.nga.gov/artworks/129320-sunlit-wall-under-tree )

You can maybe see how I’ve attempted  his technique here …

My own painting (main painting and details above) doesn’t have those incredibly silky, fluid patches of colour of Sargent’s, and the tones are much cooler, though that’s fine since it’s Edinburgh, but basically (if you’re interested in technique) I started with a wash of very pale lemon yellow, let it dry then blocked in shapes with ultramarine and ochre. After those dried I mixed up some white, ochre, cadmium red and yellow to make a very pale warm cream, and added in the suggestion of architecture with slightly darker shade of the same. When that dried, I mixed ultramarine and lemon yellow to create a mid-chartreuse lime to create the lighter splashes of the trees. I then blobbed in dashes of light lemon yellow just at the top. The violet shadow on the street was rose madder/ultramarine, then lastly I mixed very light off white to create the dapples in the ground and to break up the trees. Done. It was fun! It was absolutely an exercise in depicting light. The only structures were the suggestions of pillars and the twisty branches.

More about why I painted this in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, I’ll be creating a series of of Fairhill/Pishwanton in this style of painting over the next couple of weeks, for the Graystone Gallery.

Traces Premiere

Premiering this weekend! Wednesday 19th to Sunday 23rd August 2026

T r a c e s 

A series of paintings by artist Rose Strang SSA and an award-winning film/documentary by filmmaker Manuel Pennuto, with music arrangement by Adam Brewster, presented in association with Richard Demarco CBE.

Film Trailer

The work takes as its subject a medieval Carmelite friary in a forest of East Lothian, where a broken arch and a weathered crusader’s effigy still remain. Following a collaborative pilgrimage to the site with Richard Demarco, and drawing on medieval contemplative writing and creative observation, the project practises a contemplative attention to place, examining the contested histories that gather at sacred sites and the questions they raise about faith, memory, war and reconciliation.

Join us this weekend at The Boardwalk Beach Club in Crammond, Edinburgh.

P R O G R A M M E

Weds 19th Aug: 2 to 4pm. Exhibition Traces by Rose Strang

Thurs 20th Aug: 2 to 4pm. Exhibition Traces by Rose Strang

Fri 21st Aug: 2 to 4pm: Film documentary Traces. 2 to 4pm. Exhibition Traces by Rose Strang

Saturday 22nd Aug: Film documentary Traces. 2 to 4pm. Exhibition Traces by Rose Strang

Sunday 23rd Aug: Film documentary Traces. 2 to 4pm. Exhibition Traces by Rose Strang. Panel discussion with Richard Demarco and Traces participants

Venue location

Boardwalk Beach Club, 50 Marine Drive, Crammond, Edinburgh, EH4 5ES

 

 

 

Glenshee II

Above: Glenshee 2. Oil on wood board. Rose Strang 2026

This is the second painting in the Glenshee series, showing a little more colour and mid-tones in contrast to Glenshee 1

These two are for the Limetree Gallery‘s Autumn Show, which launches 17th September this year.

 

Glenshee is the pass you travel through on your way to Braemar in the Cairngorms. Last year we drove it twice a day while I was showing the Living Mountain series at the Braemar Literary Festival, with nowhere left to stay in Braemar itself. No hardship, given the ever-changing light on the mountains, and a little café by the ski centre for a cheap, good breakfast first thing.

It’s the pass itself that stayed with me though. Glenshee, Gleann Sìth in Scottish Gaelic: the glen of the fairies.

I find patterns of animals in these hills. In this second painting we’re further in, the slopes have turned tawny and warm like an animal pelt, hunching like the flank of some great sleeping creature. The oxblood reds are more obvious, bringing a visceral quality, maybe a sense of the danger of these mountains, post-glacial, when it wasn’t just about getting lost in cold mist, but encountering bears, wolves and lynx

And it seems the old Gaelic namers saw the same thing. In the posts to come I’ll explore why the glen is named for fairies, and the boar that haunts its hills

Glenshee 1. Oil on14 x 11 inches. Rose Strang 2026

Glenshee

Above: Glenshee 1. Oil on 14 by 11 inch wood board. Rose Strang 2026

This is the first of a series of moody chiaroscuro paintings for the Limetree Gallery’s Autumn show coming up later this year.

Glenshee is the mountain pass you travel through on your way to Braemar and the Cairngorms. The mountains remind me of huge waves of earth and rock. After you drive through they stay in your mind with their compelling shapes, light and dark racing across their flanks, rich sienna-black like a Burmese cat’s fur!

We’ll be travelling up there this weekend to look at a house. A chance to experience the beautiful mountains again.

I’ll be updating each week as the series continues …

 

Resipole Gallery

Facing West

The Facing West exhibition launched today  (18th July) at the Resipole Gallery in Ardnamurchan, Scotland …

This summer, join us for Facing West, a vibrant group exhibition celebrating new artwork inspired by the rugged beauty and light of Scotland’s West Coast. Featured artists include Kirstie Cohen, Debbie Lee, Penelope Anstice, Sam MacDonald, Rose Strang, Lynn McGregor, Andrew Sinclair, Moy Mackay, Jan Gardner, Jess Hinsley, and Penny Godlington, among others.

https://www.resipolestudios.co.uk/rose-strang

Here are my paintings of Iona included in the show (below), some painted en plain air on the Isle of Iona, some worked up later in the studio from sketches …

(To reserve or buy a painting, contact the gallery on their website contact page: https://www.resipolestudios.co.uk/contacts

One for St Columba

Above, St Columba Hotel, Iona.

 

This is a framed print I’m gifting to the St Columba Hotel on Iona. It’s of my original painting from earlier in May this year called ‘Eileen Annraidh from Iona’ which I painted up at the north east beach.

Afterwards, puggled and thirsty we went into the Columba for tea. I had my painting propped next to my chair and Ally, who works there, said ‘Oh I love that’. So I chatted with Ally and Louise, who manages the hotel.

(Above, painting Eilean Annraidh in May this year. Check the bin bag skirt!)

Louise had taken Ally kayaking to Eileen Annraidh so we heard about their sea-faring adventures, and I said I’d send them a free print. (It’s only taken me a month to get round to it!) So it’s printed, mounted, packed safely, to be picked up and delivered tomorrow.

I’m delighted to gift it to the Columba, I’ve sheltered there in wind, rain, storm and heatwaves, met people from all over the world, enjoyed the occasional gourmet meal. The staff are great. They gave Adam and I a free bottle of champagne one time just because we mentioned we were there for our wedding anniversary (we got married on Iona, of course!) 

And now I can’t resist showing this! It was truly a beautiful, magical day (Photos by Martin Venherm)

 

St Ronan's Bay. Iona. Mixed media on 30 x 30 inch wood. Rose Strang 2026

St Ronan’s Bay. Iona

Above: St Ronan’s Bay, Iona. Mixed media on 30 by 30 inch wood. Rose Strang 2026.

This is the bigger version of St Ronan’s Bay, and this one is for the Graystone Gallery in Edinburgh, possibly Edinburgh’s most popular contemporary art gallery. The owner, Lesley Briggs has an MA in the History of Art and worked with London’s prestigious Whitechapel Gallery

Here’s a zoom-able version and a photo of me with it to show scale…

I remember how excited I was to take a trip to the Whitechapel Gallery when we were art students. Lucian Freud’s work was showing and I was mesmerised by the way he painted the pink skin of a dog’s stomach in one of the paintings, at a typically odd setting and angle. Afterwards we all went to Jimmy’s Greek Taverna in Soho and I ate the loveliest lamb casserole ever. Happy days.

None of that has anything to do with my painting of course. I really fought to make this one translucent and vibrantly green. Layer after layer, building it up, then taking it into the shower to wash it off when I didn’t like it. All worth it to capture that wonderful sea-green of Iona.

If you like the look of this then contact The Graystone Gallery soon. Their summer exhibition launches in July, and people reserve paintings in advance.

More painting in a few days …

 

'St Ronan's Bay from the Sound of Iona'. Mixed media on 16x16" wood. Rose Strang 2026

St Ronan’s Bay from the Sound of Iona

Above: St Ronan’s Bay from the Sound of Iona. Mixed media on 16×16″ wood. Rose Strang 2026

Today’s painting sits better with the Resipole series than the first painting I created in this series 

This is the view from Iona Pier, or from the ferry as you approach or depart. I was thinking of calling it Baile Mor (Baile Mor being ‘main village’ in Gaelic) but St Ronan’s Bay from the Sound of Iona is somehow more poetic. I hear the chime of Iona abbey bells in that title.

The clickable image, and details ;;;

I’ve often wondered how far back Iona’s inhabitants can be traced. I wonder if there was a significant village here when Calum Cille arrived. If so, are there traces of those original people on the island?

A quick online search tells me there are traces of iron age settlements and forts. Particularly on Dun Buirgh (Hill of the Fort, or Castle of the Rock) on the west side of the island, and I think I read there were iron age remnants outside the village of Iona. Going much further back there are traces of bronze age farming, about 1000bc, I think.

Iron age is not so long ago. In fact, just a few hundred years before Calum Cille arrived on the island. I’ve explored so many aspects of Iona but it’s difficult to find facts about how and why Calum Cille (or Columba)  came to live here.

Bede describes a transfer of ownership from the Pictish King Breuide to Calum Cille, but the Gaelic traditions talks of a the island being gifted to Calum Cille from the kingdom of Dal Riata. The question is, why would either of them give him land? We don’t know. Obviously I don’t know, but neither do historians or archaeologists have definitive evidence.

And somehow, when I hear the tales of Adomnán (a descendant of Calum Cille’s religious order on Iona who lived in the 7th century and wrote extensively about the life and times of Callum Cille) I hear a certain amount of spin. Maybe because the place names on Iona are all Gaelic. I mean, there wasn’t a Pictish written language, but the names they gave places live on phonetically, especially in the east of Scotland – anything beginning with ‘Pit’, Pitlochry and so on. But then I discovered that Argyll was mostly isolated at first from the east of Scotland, and that some early form of Scottish Gaelic was mostly spoken in the Hebrides.

That’s quite reassuring to know. Many of those Gaelic place names on Iona have probably been there long before Calum Cille arrived.

These aren’t the things that inspire me to paint, but they’re interesting in retrospect. The 6th century on Iona was a time of real upheaval across the islands of Britain, as the Kingdom of Dál Riata, spanning both Antrim in Ireland and Argyll in Scotland, with its royal seat at Dunadd in Kilmartin, grew increasingly influential and powerful.

You could call it a kind of culture war: a time when ideology and religious conviction went hand in hand with military might, reshaping an indigenous culture. As far as we know, the Picts were the indigenous people of what’s now Scotland, alongside other Brythonic-speaking peoples who once lived the length of Britain. The theory now is that their descendants survive mostly in the west of the British Isles, most evidently in Wales.

More paintings coming up, for the Graystone Gallery in Edinburgh …

 

 

 

Eilean Calbha from Iona. Mixed media on 30x30″ wood panel. Rose Strang 2026

Eilean Calbha from Iona

Above: Eilean Calbha from Iona. Mixed media on 30×30″ wood panel. Rose Strang 2026

It’s said that Hebridean sailors and fishermen refused to go to sea without a green stone in their pocket. They believed the sea would never drown someone carrying a piece.

On Iona there are two types of green stone. There’s the famous serpentine, a translucent, waxy crystal that runs in streaks through Ionian marble. The marble is softer and so the teardrop shaped serpentine left behind was sometimes called ‘Columba’s/Calum Cille’s tears’ and it was worn as a talisman by sailors.

Happily, given I’m not much of a swimmer, my engagement ring, made for me by Adam and taken from a piece of marble I collected on Iona when I was about 19, is made from marble seamed with serpentine.

But that green stone is very different from the greenish grey rock in the foreground of my painting, which is Lewisian Gneiss.

It’s named so for the Gneiss found on Lewis, which forms the incredibly elegant stones of Callanish.

We’re looking at the oldest rocks in Britain, among the oldest rocks in the world, formed between 1.7 to 3.0 billion years ago. That pre-dates complex multi-cellular life, so no fossils.

My painting doesn’t have serpentine crystal or marble in it, but that wave is almost exactly the colour. In the distance is Eilean Calbha, forming a barrier against the deep, wild Atlantic.

Eilean Calbha from Iona. Mixed media on 30x30" wood panel. Rose Strang 2026

Eilean Calbha from Iona. Mixed media on 30×30″ wood panel. Rose Strang 2026

Details …

 

I’ll be creating more paintings of Iona for other galleries this month, but today’s painting brings us to the end of this particular series of Ionian paintings for the Resipole exhibition: Facing West, which launches this July.

If you’re interested in this series, you can contact the gallery who will be happy to answer any questions – Resipole Gallery

Many thanks for reading about this series. I’ll be painting more in the next few weeks, so there will be more here soon.

In the meantime, dear readers, here’s an old Celtic blessing, derived and adapted from the Carmina Gadelica, and often recited on Iona …

Deep peace of the running wave to you
Deep peace of the flowing air to you
Deep peace of the quiet Earth to you
Deep peace of the shining stars to you.

 
 

On the Shore of the Seat. Iona.

Above: Tràigh an t-Suidhe (Shore of the Seat) Iona. Mixed media on 16×16″ wood. Rose Strang 2026

There’s something so compelling about wave watching. It’s as though each successive wave corresponds to your own heartbeat. To me there’s nothing more meditative. So it’s fitting that Tràigh an t-Suidhe (pronounced tray an too-yeh) means Shore of the Seat; a place where Calum Cille was reputed to have sat quite often, seeking peace from the busier parts of the island. It’s at the northernmost point of Iona.

I’m not sure if he’d have been sitting on the low sandy bank that’s slightly raised and sits under the higher grass bank above (sheltering anyone from winds in the south), or if the seat refers to Carraig Feannig, the rock of the hoodies (a type of crow) in the middle of the bay.

Wherever he looked out, I imagine he felt the same awe we feel watching the incessant, impossibly green waves. Impossibly green thanks to the white sand of the Hebrides, the machair water as I’ve heard it described.

There were two ways to be a martyr in the pursuit of following Jesus and Christianity according to the Desert Fathers, whose influence stretched from around 300AD to Calum Cille’s day (around 530AD): red martyrdom and green martyrdom.

One meant death sacrifice, to be killed; a bloody sacrifice. The other was to live somewhere deserted, green, remote, away from the usual creature comforts, in other words the remote green spaces of the Hebrides. These places were seen as equivalent to the desert in which Jesus was tested. Nowadays we immediately think of sandy expanses, but desert means deserted in ancient Latin terms.

All very grim. I suspect Callum Cille deeply valued those times he spent gazing in wonder at the waves. I remember how I visualised the waves of Iona in my younger years when I felt troubled, or sitting on the dentist’s chair, as I was today, having a wisdom tooth extracted. I imagined myself in the hull of a wooden rowing boat being rocked gently in the calmer east coast sea of Iona.

Kenneth Steven, a writer and poet who has written extensively about Iona and the Hebrides in the last few decades expresses the wonder of waves beautifully:

I went naked into the water, ran deep into a green
Through which I was translucent. I rejoiced
In something I could not name; I celebrated a wonder
Too huge to hold. I trailed home, slow and golden,
Dried by the sunlight.

(Excerpt. Island, by Kenneth Steven)

Blessings of the Iona waves to Marc, who died in 2022. He worked as a volunteer at Iona Hostel, and used to bathe on Tràigh an t-Suidhe everyday, whatever the weather, at dawn. He’d collect seaweed to roast in the oven, and we ate it by the tonne! Rest in peace, Marc.

Here’s my photo of him from the hostel window, coming back from Tràigh an t-Suidhe in the morning.

Marc, Iona, 2018. Rose Strang

Marc, Iona, November 2018. Rose Strang