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…
St Ronan’s Bay. Iona. Mixed media on 30 x 30 inch wood. Rose Strang 2026
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.
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 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.
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.
Above: Lime Blossom at Leopold Place. Charcoal on A4 paper. Rose Strang 2026.
Photo Adam Brewster 2026
Photo Rose Strang 2025
Photo Rose Strang 2025
Lime Blossom, Linden, Tilleul, Tilia, or to give it its classic Latin name; Tilia Cordata. It’s one of the most elusive, romantic and emotionally resonant scents, and as each year passes I find myself more and more entranced and obsessed by its aroma. Something to do with ageing and the symbology of it all? The inexorable scythe that begins to hover over the head as we approach our later lives?!!
Today was so rainy and cold we decided to stay in Edinburgh rather than drive to Fairhill (otherwise known as Pishwanton) to sketch fern and birch.
I thought I’d sketch, in the comfort of the house, a lime blossom leaf, but it felt so wrong not to work from life, outdoors (I’m bored of the term en plein air). I’ve got used to the charge, or aura of the real subject, now that I’m focussing on straightfoward observation for a while (as part of my ongoing Fairhill series, which you can read about in my previous blogs.)
So I got my sketch pad and charcoal and walked along to the park on Leopold Place at the end of my street, to sketch the Limeblossom trees. And that immediately felt better. I was only there about 20 minutes, but it felt good to pay homage to one of my favourite trees.
Charcoal sketch Rose Strang 2026
Charcoal sketch Rose Strang 2026
Leopold Place. Rose Strang 2025
When I returned, I began to make dinner and a young buzzard (still slightly fluffy, in appearance if not personality) arrived on the tree outside our kitchen window, terrifying all the local birds. Fascinating to see such a sight in the city – he was something to observe to quote from Peter Gabriel’s Solsbury Hill!
It was somewhat grim watching him eat a pigeon, but mesmerising to watch such a bird up close. The local tits (and I don’t refer to my fellow Leithers!) and pigeons swooped up onto the opposite roofs, not daring to return to their favourite tree. It made up for missing out on our hare at Fairhill today.
Photo dam Brewster. May 2026
Photo Adam Brewster May 2026
Photo Adam Brewster May 2026
Back to lime blossoms though, they don’t properly emerge until June. This year I’m ready for them, and I’ll be posting about it on instagram every week or so, as the moment of ‘peak’ lime blossom approaches.
This is to celebrate the 1st anniversary of writing about perfume and scent on my perfume-related Substack and instagram, since my first ever post was about lime blossom last year. You can read or follow them on these links …
Above: Birch Trees. Fairhill 2. 18th April. Charcoal on A4 paper. Rose Strang 2026
A gaggle of geese greeted us today at Fairhill, one chased after me for a while with its neck extended and tongue out, hissing like a wild cat. The ground was covered in rook-droppings from the Scots Pines above us. The whole energy had picked up and as soon as we walked into the trees I could feel the humidity and scents of late spring rising up from the grass. All of nature waking up.
(I’m taking notes and writing a blog post each time I go to Fairhill, which is a piece of forest land owned and managed by the Life Science Centre, which is informed by Goethean science and philosophy. My trips to Fairhill are my record of a Goethean approach to observation – bringing a deeper awareness and understanding of nature. Sketching is an important part).
The resident hare greeted us at the edge of the birch forest and bounded off, its black ear tips visible every so often. We went back to the same spot. I looked for my tightly coiled fern from last time, but there were so many, after just one week, all popping up their spiral heads in varying states of unfurling.
I sketched a couple of those and the birch forest in pencil first. Then three sketches in charcoal.
It sounds obvious, but I was really aware of the fact that efforts to draw or sketch trees weren’t working, what worked was drawing the patches of light, pattern and shade. This is drawing level 1, but it’s interesting how I forget! I wanted to sketch birch leaves, but two hours had past, it was 5pm and time to head to Gifford.
‘Birch Trees, Fairhill 2. Charcoal on A4 paper. Rose Strang 2026
‘Birch Trees, Fairhill 3. Charcoal on A4 paper. Rose Strang 2026
‘Birch Trees, Fairhill 4. Charcoal on A4 paper. Rose Strang 2026
To say it was a beautiful day is inadequate. I felt like I’d been dropped into a film about a rural idyll, one that would win awards for amazing cinematogrpahy. but better because of all the scents. Adam recorded the sounds of Fairhill as we came in – crawing rooks, swaying trees, hissing geese. It will make a great soundtrack for an exhibition at some point maybe.
Gifford was a continuation of the being-dropped-in-a-film mood, with 1940s music playing, old crackelure-d paintings and super-polite friendly staff who asked us how our day had been and plied us with afternoon scones.
I meant to write more about Goblin Ha‘ near Gifford. I’ll do that next time.
If these resonate with you, and you’d like get in touch about it, contact me and I’ll send a link to the password protected page. rose.strang@gmail.com
Above: Birch Trees and Willow Shelter 2. Mixed media on 14×14″ wood 2. Rose Strang 2026
Newly framed and ready to go. These three paintings of the Fairhill woodland near Yester Valley, East Lothian will be part of the spring group exhibition at The Limetree Gallery, Bristol, opening Saturday 25th April.
For enquiries please contact Limetree Gallery directly on this link –Contact
All paintings are on 14 by 14 inch wood in lime-washed obeche-wood frames.
Birch Trees and Willow Shelter 2. Mixed media on 14×14″ wood 2. Rose Strang 2026
Birch Trees and Willow Shelter 2. Mixed media on 14×14″ wood 2. Rose Strang 2026
Birch Trees and Willow Shelter 2. Mixed media on 14×14″ wood 2. Rose Strang 2026
‘Birch Forest’. Fairhill. Mixed media on 14×14″ wood. Rose Strang 2026
‘Birch Forest’. Fairhill. Mixed media on 14×14″ wood. Rose Strang 2026
Birch Trees and Willow Shelter 1. Mixed media on 14×14″ wood. Rose Strang 2026.
(detail) ‘Birch Forest’. Fairhill. Mixed media on 14×14″ wood. Rose Strang 2026
(detail) ‘Birch Forest’. Fairhill. Mixed media on 14×14″ wood. Rose Strang 2026
Above: 18th Century Toasting Glass with Scrap of Linen. Oil on 12×9″ wood panel. Rose Strang 2025
Below: Nuit de Noël (Caron/Baccarat). Oil on 12×9″ wood panel. Rose Strang 2026 and 18th Century Toasting Glass with Scrap of Linen. Oil on 12×9″ wood panel. Rose Strang 2025
Nuit de Noël (Caron/Baccarat). Oil on 12×9″ wood panel. Rose Strang 2026
18th Century Toasting Glass with Scrap of Linen. Oil on 12×9″ wood panel. Rose Strang 2025
Two still lifes for the Limetree Gallery‘s upcoming show; Anew which launches 20th February
“The devil is in the detail” to quote Mies Van Der Rohe!
Still lifes might seem an unusual subject for an artist mostly known for painting landscape, but to me it’s the same exploration; what the subject tells me, the presence, energy and the way light falls on form and texture.
When I paint these objects I become steeped in their story; every tiniest twist of their making, so they become alive for me. “Is a river alive?” asks the author Robert MacFarlane in his latest book. It’s a question that would have struck the 14th century mind as odd, because they believed everything was alive.
With daylight hours being shorter, I want to focus in on a smaller scale. Large canvases are suited to the long hours and energy of spring and summer. That smal panel of twelve by nine inches of wood becomes a universe; a toasting glass made from lead crystal in the 1740s, a piece of scrap linen and the way both of these objects disappear against the neutral-toned plaster wall in my studio, the tones barely differing.
Highlights on glass and the way light catches the edges of frayed cloth offer clues to what’s there, though it’s not immediately obvious on first encounter.
I like the humble, undeclarative amost monastic feel of it. It looks to me as though this glass lay forgotten, maybe on an old pantry shelf (how else does a fragile 18th century glass survive?) I placed it next to a strip of linen; a cut-off from canvas-making in the summer of last year.
The linen doesn’t detract from the subtlety of the glass, the neutral colour hues and the low-key, ordinary setting. The shelf is a weathered, found plank attached to my studio wall by Adam a couple of years ago.
The other painting: Nuit de Noël (Caron/Baccarat) is in deliberate contrast. The subject announces itself assertively, the glamorous black glass, designed by the house of Caron and made by high-end glass-makers Baccarat, placed on a leather vanity case on which a gold necklace with amethyst stone is draped.
The Baccarat glass bottle announces its art nouveau elegance immediately, but I suspect only the makers of this bottle, and those who obsessed over its design, can truly appreciate the beauty of its angles and the story it tells.
Nuit de Noël (Caron/Baccarat). Oil on 12×9″ wood panel. Rose Strang 2026
I can’t really capture them in paint in a sense, because the viewer knows it’s a painting, they don’t know if I’ve subtly tweaked those angles. In fact I’ve just tried to meticulously copy them and in the process become lost in admiration, and frustration at not being able to reproduce them perfectly!
The designer of this exquisite bottle was Félicie Vanpouille, the artistic director of perfume house Caron, also the lover and muse of Caron’s owner Ernest Daltroff, a highly talented perfumer. Ernest had the perfumer’s equivalent of perfect pitch; the ability to remember thousands of individual scents in order to compose a perfume (an absolutely neccessary skill to become a talented ‘nose’).
Daltroff created a perfume to evoke Félicie’s favourite time of year, Christmas eve, hence the title Nuit de Noel. I know from descriptions that the perfume is darker than might be expected, more sombre, with a dark Mousse de Saxe (Saxon Moss) base and heart, lightened with sweet floral accords.
It was meant rather to evoke a more introspective Midnight Mass mood than the festive oranges and cloves aesthetic we might expect from a winter perfume.
(I will in fact be sampling it soon as I’ve just ordered 1.5 ml from a reputable vintage perfume sample company. For those interested in my life as a perfume sampler and writer of stories inspired by perfume, have a look at my new Substack page here – Rose Strang. Substack )
Most poigantly, this little bottle captures a perfect moment in time; two sparklingly talented people met, fell in love, worked together and became inseperable as lovers, mutual muses and business partners.
It’s impossible to extract Caron myth and legend from fact when it comes to the finer details of their relationship, but what I do know is that Ernest Daltroff and Félicie Wanpouille created Nuit de Noel (perfume and bottle) at the height of their love affair, though really it was much more than an affair, they were together perhaps twenty years.
It was no doubt described as ‘an affair’ at the time because relationships outside of marriage were believed to be sinful and usually caused a great scandal. Nonetheless, Félicie signed herself Madame Daltroff in all busines correspondence.
It’s suggested she wished to marry Ernest, but he refused, or vice versa. What’s known for sure is that, while he’d been born into wealth and privilege, she had been born into poverty. She had nothing but talent and wit. When they first met she’d already established herself as a designer in Paris. It’s a classic 1920s tale really from the depression era; women were becoming somewhat more emancipated, yet, if they married their money was no longer theirs. Not a great prospect for a woman who had experienced the instability and hunger of terrible poverty.
Around the time that Nuit de Noel was created, Ernest and Félicie signed a 50/50 ownership ‘Tontine’ agreement. This meant that if one outlived the other, the survivor would inherit the wealth and ownership of Caron, but just four years later, Félicie married another man and had moved out of the flat she shared with Ernest.
In some accounts, he’s described as devastated by this change. It leads me to speculate on whether they’d had a falling out. Had he refused to marry? Or had she refused, knowing that to marry would mean handing over the stability and everything she’d worked so hard for?
Interestingly, her husband appears to have been seventeen years younger than her. And when Ernest finally married, years later, at the age of 65, his new wife, Madeleine, was also twenty years younger.
When Ernest and Félicie were together, they’d often visit the Bellagio (in the beautiful area of Lake Como, Italy). I find it telling that decades later, just a year before his death, Ernest Daltroff visited one last time before leaving for the US. As a Russian with Jewish origins he was in danger from the Nazi occupation of France. He moved to the US with his new wife Madeleine and died just a year later in 1941.
Félicie Vanpouille kept Caron alive during the Nazi occupation since she wasn’t under threat from the Nazi regime, or not in the same sense as Ernest Daltroff.
Their last perfume before embarking on their separate marriages, was Bellodgia, inspired by thier love of Bellagia on Lake Como..
It’s a poignant story and it’s redolent of so many I read about this era of beautiful creativity set against the backdrop of brutal war. This was in fact the ‘Golden Age’ of perfumery. These bottles and perfumes are truly works of art. I see Félicie’s exquisite sense of design in every angle of that bottle. In a couple of weeks, when my perfume sample arrives, I’ll understand a little more of Ernest Daltroff’s talent as a perfumer too.
It’s also worth mentioning the process that created such a beautiful object.
For this particular Baccarat ‘onyx’ black glass, components were melted together at an astonishing1450-1500°C (this temperature takes a month to prepare). Once the glass is removed from heat it rapidly cools to 500°C, and the master glassblower has only a few minutes to shape it before it hardens. This particular bottle though, was blown in a mold, to the specifications of Félicie Vanpouille’s design.
Lastly, a note on composition; I placed the bottle on top of my own Noel present; a vintage leather vanity case from my husband Adam. The 18th century glasses are a present from my niece and her partner. Beautiful Christmas presents, among others from all the family, my much-loved in-laws, and friends too that make me feel very grateful indeed for the relationships in my life, (not least my mum’s love of perfume that inspired me to love perfume – hound-like noses run in our family!) and for the peace we live in which means we can enjoy them.
Wishing everyone a wonderful, peaceful Happy New Year!
Above. Storm Island. Oil on 50×50″ linen canvas. Rose Strang 2025.
Part of a series in progress for the Graystone Gallery‘s Edinburgh Festival exhibition launching to the public Saturday 19th July 2025 from 1 to 3pm
The photo below includes me to show scale …
‘Storm Island’. Oil on 50×50″ linen canvas. Rose Strang 2025
The painting’s called Storm Island because it shows a somewhat abstracted view from the north beach of Iona to Eilean Annraidh, which means (you guessed it!) Island of Storm in Gaelic.
It doesn’t look remotely stormy from the shore, it generally looks somewhat tranquil, even mystical in the way that islands do until you’re on them. A sense of untouched purity with its white sand and luminous tuquoise water.
I can never capture in traditonal or realist paintings that feeling of mystery. Abstracting this painting a little, and painting from a place where I’m thinking of colour, shape and texture rather than what’s actually there, maybe gives more of a sense of that feeling.
The foreground suggests a rockpool. The rock pools on the north beach of Iona are incredible sometimes, you feel you’ve stumbled upon some sort of dragon’s lair, with this lime green water among the jagged jet black rocks.
I have one more of these semi abstract works to finish this week, then the series for theGraystone Galleryis complete. The exhibition launches with a preview on Saturday 19th July from 1 to 3pm. Hope to see you there!
Above: Iona Abbey from North Beach. Oil on 30×20″ linen canvas. Rose Strang 2025
Today’s painting, above, is one of two landscapes for the upcoming Graystone Galleryexhibition in Edinburgh which launches on Saturday 19th July this year from 1 to 3pm
I’m taking these two landscapes as a starting point for two much larger abstract works for the Graystone, about which I’m very excited as I really awant to play with colour, mood and texture, not just views of Iona, lovely as those are to paint!
Just looking at my palette at the end of today is an inspiration!