Above, another iteration of the ‘Return’ theme. Featuring the stylised effigy of a crusader from the 12th century, as discovered at a ruined Carmelite Friary in Aberlady.
Not the title I’ll give it, obviously! This one is in progress and I’m interested to see a sort of formal hall emerge. Or perhaps with new colours it’ll turn into a stately forest …
Above Return II. Acrylic on 32×32″ canvas. Rose Strang 2024.
Just a quick post today with an image of today’s painting, which is a perhaps more resolved version of yesterday’s composition (below)
I was halfway through writing a blog post about the SSEN’s plans to set up sub stations throughout Scotland, which will ruin the landscape not to mention the happiness and livelihoods of locals to these areas. I want to do the subject justice though, and to provide information so people can actually add to protests.I hope to post it tomorrow afternoon.
Above: Shorelines, Aberlady. I. Oil on 8×5.5″ wood. Rose Strang 2024
More oil sketches in progress today inspired by the shorelines and moods of Aberlady…
For my experimental paintings and ideas I’ve been working at this size for some time and it really works for me in terms of loose brushwork. It would be a bit of a nightmare to work at a larger size with this more experimental messy approach – that would be a lot of oil paint going to waste when it doesn’t work (which is often!) and a lot of physical energy and time expended.
It’s been a while since I posted a video of my working process. I’m very forgetful of such things but people seem to enjoy them, so one of those coming up soon.
I’m also still working on my Carmelite monastery and Crusader’s tomb series (see older posts) which are very different in feel to these smaller landscape paintings. I love the freedom of my smaller landscape paintings, but I think I have something more to say as an artist so I’ll be persevering with that series over the coming weeks. It’s important to get out of my comfort zone and dig a bit deeper …
Above: Aberlefdi. Winter I. Oil on 8×5.5″ wood. Rose Strang 2024
These are some oil sketches I’ve been working on as part of a general series this year which explores the history and landscape of Aberlady in the south of Scotland.
Part of the series is a deeper look at the the history of a Carmelite monastery near Aberlady, but the paintings also reflect my love of a landscape that’s deeply familar to me.
I think there’s something dreamlike about Aberlady. It might be the sheer sense of space in sky, sand and sea, but I think it’s also something I find in particular on the east coast of Scotland. Looking out to the north sea towards Norway and Denmark, there’s something haunting about the fact that about 8000 years ago we’d have been looking at Doggerland, before the series of great landslides called the Storegga Slides occurred, creating the north sea. It looks and feels very different to the soft light of the west coast of Scotland.
Whenever I look at paths or horizons in this landscape, I also think of journeys, and the fact that not so long ago in the days when Aberlady was called Aberlefdi (hence the title of this series of small landscapes) it was an important stop on the pilgrim route between the Isle of Iona and Lindisfarne, or Holy Isle as it’s also known. That was in around 700AD when one of St Columba’s followers called St Aiden was tasked with setting up a new monastery on Lindisfarne.
When you camp over night near Aberlady you experience all the moods of the seasons; the burnished gold of marram grass and sand in winter, the soft green of the sea and grass in June when the larks and rabbits are at their busiest, or the thunder, lightning and rainstorms on humid late summer nights.
Above: Island. Acrylic and oil on 14×10″ wood. Rose Strang 2024
This is one of today’s paintings as part of the Crusader’s tomb series I’m working on this year. (previous posts here – post 1
I imagined our crusader, David de Lindsey visualising his home, as he lay in bed being looked after by Carmelite monks in the Middle East . He might dream of the landscape he’d pass on his voyage back to Scotland and Luffness, so the painting above is a sort of Bass Rock of the mind. It’s an island anyone entering the Firth of Forth would see as they sailed past.
I’m working on this series intuitively, allowing imagery to surface as it wishes. Here are two more paintings in progress from today’s session in the studio –
I’m exploring the traumatic side of de Lindsey’s experience, the painting above shows a quickly sketched copy of the danse macabre on red background from a Medieval painting. Underneath is the faint suggestion of a horse – a romanticised image associated with crusaders. The colour of the red oil paint also makes me think of a wax seal – a promise or signed contract maybe.
I’m using these images I suppose to explore the way we’re drawn to causes through powerful imagery. We’re such visual people and I wonder if those with visual impairments are less susceptible to (for example) political campaigns since they can’t see slogans and imagery!
At the same time the imagery I’m choosing is a way to say something about the idea of faith and the spirit, because we do share archetypal images in imagination, so the image above the red painting directly above might suggest spirit, and it echoes yesterday’s painting. Return II
More paintings soon …
Above: Return II. Oil on 20×20″ canvas. Rose Strang 2024
A quote from the artist Gerhard Richter there, by way of explanation to anyone wondering where my landscape paintings have gone! The painting above is an update of this earlier painting …
There are numerous paintings in progress in my studio at the moment, but the one at the top of this post feels more resolved to me. I mentioned in my last blog post that there are lots of ideas and threads which will hopefully converge at some point. It feels that’s starting to happen, possibly!
As any artist knows though, it’s really challenging to change course creatively. While you flounder around in a sea of paint it can look as though you’re lost, but you’re just giving yourself time to find something deeper and more authentic.
This feels necessary since I’m dealing with a complicated subject – one that has so many strands it’s impossible to merge them into one idea, except perhaps the idea of a journey – or faith.
(for more about ideas behind this series here are my three earlier posts – Crusader’s tomb, Crusader’s tomb 1 and Crusader’s tomb 2
I’ve just discovered, with a quick look online, that there are some dodgy looking groups utilising crusader symbology, which is disappointing. If I’m using any crusader symbology it’s in the sense of a journey towards understanding. Think Cadfael, returning from the Crusades older and wiser, deciding to work on his herb garden rather than chop up the so-called enemy!
When I contemplate David de Lindsay’s effigy at Aberlady, I’m moved to contemplate the idea of regret more than anything. I wonder what he thought or felt about the Crusades or ‘Holy War’ as he lay on his deathbed at Mount Carmel. De Lindsay didn’t just leave money for the founding of the Carmelite Friary at Aberlady as thanks for his remains being returned home after his death, he also left instructions for the upkeep of the Carmelite Order at Aberlady – as we see from records of his son’s instructions to distribute regular funding to the Friary and to the poor in the area.
More paintings tomorrow. In the meantime, here’s a photo of David de Lindsay’s effigy in the ruins of the Carmelite Friary at Aberlady.
Above: Crusader’s Tomb 1. Oil on 14×11″ wood. Rose Strang 2024
I’ve been working on a few sketches of an effigy in the remains of a Carmelite Friary at Aberlady. The painting above (and below so you can click on it) is the first in a series I’ll be creating this year.
In my last post ‘Start to the year …’ I wrote about what draws me to this particular area. At the heart of my fascination is the crusader’s tomb (featured in the painting above) near Aberlady. It’s quite a difficult place to find and I won’t divulge any secrets about where (publicly anyway!) as I think it’s a sacred, or at least special place.
Despite the fact I’ve been visiting the area since I was a girl, I only discovered the crusader’s tomb in 2021 when I stayed in Aberlady during lockdown. We were astonished to find this fragment of medieval history – the stone effigy of a knight – exposed to the elements. I wondered why it hadn’t been destroyed in the 16th century along with the rest of the Carmelite Friary to which it was attached.
Fragments often remain, but this corner of the friary was left almost untouched, while around it only the foundations and traces of buttresses remained. It seemed like some remnant of forgoten legend so of course my imagination was inspired!
There’s no information on the site, since this is not a public monument, so I searched online where I found contradictory information about the effigy. Some describe it as ‘Bickerton’s tomb’, while others suggest it’s the effigy of David de Lindsay, whose family owned nearby Luffness House in the 13th century. I’m convinced it’s the latter having met someone whose family has owned Luffness House over the last three hundred years, who told me the history of the effigy…
The Story of David de Lindsay.
In the last Crusades (which took place in the Holy Land between the 11th century to early 14th century) David de Lindsay took part and became ill (though apparently not through wounds). He was tended to by monks at a nearby Carmelite Monastery. The Carmelites established their first monastery in the Middle East at Mount Carmel in around 1220 or earlier, so when they tended David de Lindsay it would have been in very early days of the Order.
When de Lindsay realised he didn’t have long to live, he asked the monks if they would send his remains back to his home in Luffness and they agreed. Perhaps this was on condition that de Lindsay set up a Carmelite Friary at Luffness near Aberlady. However the agreement came about, he left instructions and money for his family for a Carmelite Friary to be built near Luffness.
The first records we have of the Friary are (I think) in the late 1200’s, in accounts belonging to David de Lindsay’s son, which describe details of funds for the Carmelite friary at Luffness and instructions for these to be distributed to the poor. Patrons are honoured with a tomb and/or effigy near the altar of churches, and this particular effigy dates to the 1200’s and is placed in the patron’s position on the left of the altar. A shield and sword, held by the effigy are still discernable. It seems most likely it was David de Lindsey.
Today’s painting is the first of several preparatory pieces (you can explore the series as it develops on this link:
I’m living and breathing 13th century culture at the moment – quite literally in the sense that I’m learning to sing some really beautiful 13th century songs!
More on that in my next post …
Above Aberlady Sketches 1. Oil on 5×7″ wood. Rose Strang 2024
A start to the year and a new project with this small, twilit painting of Aberlady.
It’s a project a long time in waiting. I was beginning to explore ideas back in early 2020 when the obvious event struck, causing a small panic about income, but then three painting commissions came at me from out of the blue and I’ve been busy ever since it seems.
The Village of Aberlady is not a place you’d describe as mysterious or dramatic, unless you knew it well. The first impression is of a very pretty, conventional village, perfect for the rich retirees. A train used to stop here but the railway was dismantled in the 1970’s. There are one or two shops, a couple of inns and a takeaway.
So why am I so obsessed with painting a series about my response to this place? Well, I’ll be painting and writing about ‘why’ for the rest of 2024!
The most obvious appeal, beyond the village itself, is of course the nature reserve that stretches across a mile or two of grassland and dunes to an expanse of glittering sand reaching far out to sea at low tide. It’s one of the very few places I’ll swim in Scotland. In August when the sea has become less cold and has flowed back in across the warm sand, bathing here in shallow water is almost bath-like. Plus there’s hardly anyone around since, compared to the amount of people at North Berwick further south along the coast, relatively few will walk the two miles to the sea. There are of course hundreds and thousands of birds, and deer, rabbits galore and any amount of other species I don’t know about.
The appeal for most people visiting Aberlady these days is peace in nature. One thing that fascinates me though is the way places change in importance over several hundred years, depending on their function. Think of St Andrews in Fife, it was the ecclesiastical centre of Scotland hunreds of years ago. Now it’s known as the home of Scotland’s oldest university, and for its golf course. (also made more famous by the royal romance I suppose. I was attending post graduate art studies there at the same time as Will and Kate but never bumped into them, not quite moving in the same circles!) Or think of York, known now for its olde worlde timber-framed buildings and awe-inspiring York Minster – when in the past it was the centre of power in England.
Going farther back in time, Aberlady was a place that had to defend itself from violent attack, and going even further back to the 7th century it was the last stop for pilgrims on their way from Iona to Lindisfarne.
Beneath its pleasant exterior I find Aberlady to be a place of deep mystery and drama. It’s something you can’t see, but rather it’s something you feel after years of immersing yourself in its landscape and history.
Hence why I’ll be working towards a series of paintings this year to explore my fascination with Aberlefdi, as it was originally named – a mixture of Pictish aber meaning river mouth and Lef, the name of a Viking warrior whose remains are interred beneath Luffness House in Aberlady Bay. That’s just one little detail in the whole story though.
More to follow in the coming weeks as the light improves and I can really get into painting this series …
One of my Aberlady paintings from 2020:
Above; Trace. Portnellan Island. Loch Venachar. Oil on 70x70cm canvas. Rose Strang 2023
These three works are on show as part of the exhibition; Borrowed Land, launching at The Kilmorack Gallery, Inverness-shire, from 18th November to 2nd March 2023/2024.
From the Kilmorack Gallery website:
“Kilmorack Gallery has timed this exhibition – Borrowed Land – to run when Scotland’s landscape is at its greatest threat since the clearances. Giant multi-national companies threaten to build electrical substations the size of university campuses, along with 60m high pylon lines hundreds of miles long, and soon after will come the transformation of hills into power stations with a new generation of mega-turbines”.
This exhibition (by the Kilmorack Gallery which is run by Tony Davidson, author of Confessions of a Highland Art Dealer: A journey in art, a glen and changing times.) represents a meaningful opportunity for me to get to the heart of my love of landscape as a painter.
The phrase borrowed land comes from the (so far unattributed) statement – We do not inherit the earth, we borrow it from our children.
In response to a request to write something about my work for this exhibition I offered the following –
Landscape is the most profound teacher. Through painting landscape over the years, my brushwork begins to reflect energy felt from the elements observed. Mark-making is instinctive to humans but we still barely understand why we make the marks we do. Those prehistoric drawings in the caves of Lascaux might express wonderment, or reverence towards nature as much as the desire to kill and eat animals.
The idea behind the phrase ‘Borrowed Land’ reframes a question; ‘What will you leave to posterity, to future generations?’ I’m fascinated by the traces left behind by past cultures, traces that are often barely discernible today. Some cultures left subtle marks.
Through landscape painting I can express my sense of reverence towards nature. I find that the element of water expresses layers of mystery – what is revealed or concealed, what is reflected? How quickly the ripples created by a falling leaf disappear and how quickly lasting destruction can occur. The paintings in this series are of bodies of water near archaeological sites of past cultures who left little trace.
Borrowed Land – launching at the Kilmorack Gallery on the 18th November.
Click on this link for more info about the exhibition – Borrowed Land
More on these paintings next week …
Coigach Series 10. Oil on 10×10″ wood. Rose Strang 2023
More painting progress of the Coigach series, with the continuing challenge of saying less with more simple brushwork – trying to hone in on the essentials of what makes a particular landscape speak to me. Here’s the series so far …
I’ve been visiting the Coigach area for decades because several of my dad’s friends live there. As is often the way – one family member moves there, others follow, then eventually people become intergrated with the local community, making friends, or finding long term partners.
Coigach means ‘five’ in Gaelic, and it refers to the five townships or villages of the area, the main one being Achiltibuie (I love that name and wish I knew what it meant!) Near our friends’ house there’s a broch down near the sea – a form of dwelling, or maybe fort dating from the iron-age – incredibly strong and sophisticated structures architecturally.
This particular one is a bit crumbled down (there are almost intact ones in Orkney and, interestingly, very similar structures in Sardinia) but still impressive given its age. This wild area has obviously been peopled since the retreat of the ice-age, like the rest of Scotland’s north west coast. It’s unexpected to the new visitor since this seems one of the most remote corners of the world, but if you remember that the sea and rivers were the highways back then, not land, it makes sense.
I’ve stayed in various places, one time on Tanera Mor, one of the Summer Isles of the coast of Coigach. This was the island where cult film classic The Wicker Man was made. I’m never sure if it’s a cult film because it’s a bit hilarious, or because of its atmosphere – both, no doubt. The island was indeed somewhat spooky, or at least I found it so, on a dark rainy day wandering across the boggy moorland with my friends, exploring caves in the black cliffs, aware we were the only people on the island at that time.
More convivial are the times spent on the mainland of Coigach with family friends. I remember some legendary Ceilidhs – lots of dancing and serious whisky drinking, people here really know how to party, including the local police, I’ll say no more about that though, and it was in the mid 1990’s so nothing to do with anyone there now!
One of the most unusual evenings I experienced was on one of the smaller Summer Isles, a new owner had just bought the island and he appeared to have transported his entire suburban house with fluffy wall-to-wall carpets, massive hi fi system, leather-effect sofas, canaries in cages and obligatory conservatory, to an amazing spot overlooking a majestic loch (his was the only house on the island). Towards midnight we were all dancing to Rod Stewart’s Do ya think I’m sexy? then a piper led us outside into the cold night air and started to play his bagpipes – it was an affecting moment after all the party noise. We all fell silent as the notes echoed across the loch, they seemed to carry for miles.
One new year as we travelled back to Edinburgh, my dad’s car started to fail as we traversed Glen Coe and Rannoch Moor. It’s not a good place to feel the car beging to sputter and die. We all sat tensely, driving at a snail’s pace along the icy road, towering mountains above and vast white moors stretching ahead. I think there was maybe one house that may or may not have been inhabited as we drove along. Finally we got to a garage – a huge relief.
People mean a lot in areas like Coigach, it’s a lifestyle you can’t take lightly since money alone doesn’t help when you’re snowed in, or your boat breaks down. I have many enjoyable memories of this place, not least recently when we stayed there briefly with friends after our wedding in May. No matter the time of year the colours always seem to me alternately moody and wet then sparkling, dazzling sunhine, rarely anything in-between. I love driving along in the car over the winding roads down from the wet mountains and bleak moors, down past little cottages nestled in the tall grass and towards the summer isles dotted across a sparkling sea. I’ll attempt that subject soon …
Rose Strang Artworks 