Tag Archives: scottish landscape art

A beautiful place …

Above: Beauly substation.

What you see above is a view of the gravel quarry and SSEN (Scottish and Southern Electricity Networks) electricity substation near Beauly, Inverness-shire.

Beauly means ‘a beautiful place’ and despite these developments by SSEN, much of it still is. We were walking there again last weekend as part of a visit to the Kilmorack Gallery (showing the excellent exhibition Borrowed Land until 2nd March)

For perspective, here’s an old map of the area contrasted with a current view …

It’s pretty disheartening isn’t it? Imagine if you lived here though, and your favourite walk, through landscape like this (my photos of Beauly taken last weekend and last November) …

Was replaced with this …

The site includes numerous important archeological remains and the developments have obviously caused utter devastation to local wildlife.

SSEN (Scottish and Southern Electric Network) plan to extend their transmission line, create more wind farms and, the site at Beauly is to be extended from 60 acres to 860 acres, which is just huge.

Even worse, this is intended for areas across the Scottish Highlands …

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Some might consider this the inevitable price of progress, but it’s not progress, and nor is it needed – which becomes very evident when you look into current and future energy requirements for Scotland and the UK. As usual, quite simply it’s a money-making excercise for global companies, supported and encouraged by our own government.

I’ll include more information about SSEN’s proposals ongoing, but I’m new to this and  you’ll be better informed about these developments and possible ways to help by joining this facebook page…

Communities Before Power Companies

It’s run by people who live in these areas who’ve been resisting such developments for years. If/when you join, invite all your contacts and remember that this affects us all -you might not be able to attend local meetings, but you can sign petitions, write to MP’s and share information.

Lastly, here are two excellent letters/articles published by the Press and Journal (by two admins for Communities Before Power Companies) Elaine Ritter and Denise Davis …

 
 
 

Return (Crusader’s effigy) series, day 6

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)

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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.

Crusader’s tomb day 5

Above Return. Acrylic on 31.5×31.5 ” canvas. Rose Strang 2024

Photo below to show scale …

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Moving on to larger canvas today, I’m feeling happy with the direction this series is taking.

I was calling this the ‘crusader’s tomb’ series but I feel that the title ‘Return’ has more resonance and is less restricting somehow, though I am inspired by the crusader’s tomb and effigy near Aberlady.

Recently I’ve felt that I’m truly finding my way as an artist after decades of exploring, and it’s good to discover that I have a theme to which I return again and again, which is – the traces of past cultures on landscape. A few days ago I finished reading a book called Elixir‘ by the Bulgarian author Kapka Kassabova (who now lives in Inverness-shire, Scotland). In the book she describes her return to the Mesta valley in Bulgaria and her growing awareness of its layers of history:

But it’s all still here, the house whispered, this is not the end. They wanted me to know this. What you think is here is only the surface view of something deeper that runs through us like electricity through the air, the house wanted me to know. Beams that in a flash illuminate the valley and its breathing creatures. Then darkness again.

I’m far from alone in my feeling that these voices, memories and traces of the past are profoundly important – and that we’re only partially aware of what’s at stake. I’m not talking about climate change as such, but in particular our relationship with landscape and each other.

It’s interesting to speculate on what David de Lindsey might say if he could speak to us. He was desparate for his remains to be returned to the landscape he loved, and his direct descendants honoured his dying wishes – money was left not just for the founding of a Carmelite Friary at Aberlady, but also for the community it served – their livelihood and landscape. Is it this energy I sense when standing in the ruins of the Friary? Probably it’s just imagination, but then what is imagination for?

In my next blog I want to share information about the destruction of beautiful areas of the Scottish Highlands, including parts of Beauly in Inverness-Shire. Right next door in fact to the Kilmorack Gallery where I’ve been showing my three works from the Trace series as part of the Borrowed Land exhibition, which incidentally closes on the 2nd March, so go and have a look while you can!

 

 

 

More oil sketches …

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 …

Oil sketches …

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.

Crusader’s Tomb

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:

Works

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 …

Start to the year …

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.

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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:

Winter Exhibition at the Resipole

Above: Coigach 1. Oil on 5×7″ wood. Rose Strang 2023

Six little paintings on wood from my ‘Coigach series’ are showing as part of the Resipole Gallery’s Winter Show. Beautifully presented as always by the gallery curators alongside some wonderful paintings and ceramics – all reflecting the textures and atmosphere of Scotland’s west coast. Here are the six paintings in the show …

The exhibition runs from December until 29th February 2024. You can view the exhibition Here, or better still travel up there to experience Ardnamurchan – one of the few places where you can still walk among Atlantic oaks at the edge of white beaches with turquoise sea lapping the shore.

‘Borrowed Land’ – Exhibition launch at the Kilmorack Gallery

Above – Borrowed Land , group exhibition at the Kilmorack Gallery. The ‘Trace’ series of paintings will be on exhibition as part of the show, which runs from November 2023 to March 2nd 2024. (Read more about the series here: Traces of the Past)

Last Saturday I travelled up north to be part of the the launch of Borrowed Land, an exhibition curated by owner of the Kilmorack Gallery Tony Davidson.

Part of Tony’s inspiration for the exhibition came from the quote; We do not inherit the land, we borrow it from our children. All participating artists were invited to respond to the concept of ‘borrowed land’. (our responses are included in the exhibition catalogue which is available from the gallery website here – Catalogue )

I’m completely enchanted by the Kilmorack gallery aesthetic and atmosphere. The building was formerly a church, built (at least part of it I think) in the late 1700s. I usually experience an internal cringe when churches are converted to non-religious purposes, not neccessarily because of the change of use from religious to commercial or everyday residential, but the fact of the architectural purpose of church buildings, which are designed to inspire contemplation, imagine the heavens or to aspire to something beyond ourselves. It’s why I feel an art gallery is suited to such a building; if the art presented inspires thought, imagination and contemplation as much as aesthetics.

Have a read about the exhibition Here, or take a look at the gallery via this excellent 3D walk-through …

https://my.matterport.com/show/?m=cYumFGguSW7&sr=.06,-.58&ss=3

After the exhibition launch we stayed over night to walk around the next day – some photos …

Traces of the past

Above: Trace. Blackwater. Oil on 80x80cm canvas. Rose Strang 2023

Traces of past cultures in landscape have fascinated me for many years. Especially those traces so subtle you’d walk past, barely noticing them. Expressing this subtlety in paint is a challenge.

While painting a series in 2018 titled ‘Wells of Arthur’s Seat’ I started to find a way. There are literal traces, like the trace of a chain on the boulder near St Anthony’s Well which was originally attached to a metal cup above a carved stone basin. The spring has long since dried up, but as late as the early 20th century people from Edinburgh would sip the water, or soak cloth in the water then apply it to their body in the belief it cured disease or imbalance.

I don’t want to paint literal traces, however, and while exploring the history of St Anthony’s Well I became immersed in the mystery of water. Its layers, veils and reflections suggested timelessness, ‘as above so below’, or the idea of liminal or in-between places.

Painting ripples left by, for example, a falling twig, reminded me of pre-historic concentric rings carved into rocks around the British Isles. No one knows why those carvings were created, but to me they suggested ever multiplying rings created by cause and effect – a falling leaf that creates a pulse of water, shifting tectonic plates that create the huge pulse of a tsunami, or the mystery of gravity and the orbiting planets and moons of our solar system.

When I visited Saxon burial mounds at Sutton Hoo in Suffolk it wasn’t the mounds themselves I wanted to paint, it was the river that led to the mounds – the River Deben. I painted reflections on the river and the wake left by a passing boat – to me the flowing river brought that past culture to life more than the burial mounds. Cultures change and become strange or indecipherable but a boat’s wake remains the same. I could envisage their arrival from northern Europe to the Suffolk coast up the River Deben, imagining what made them settle here and select this particular spot as as a sacred burial ground.

Then the process of painting the layers of water was so complex in itself – there is translucency and opacity, reflections, the rhythm of flowing water and the fact of constant movement and change. I was also thinking of the fact that nature was at the heart of Saxon culture and religion. For example the tree of life – Yggdrasil – which encompasses many different worlds. Each of the tree’s three roots is fed by three different wells representing past, present and future.

These myths reflect a truth – that everything is connected. Our recent past, encompassing the industrial revolution and unprecedented consumption of resources, has taken us full circle back to this realisation of inter-connectedness, and the dilemma of how to move forward. Our culture will leave more trace than any that came before us.

At Loch Venachar in the Central Highlands of Scotland, I searched for the remains of a Crannog (iron-age man-made islands on which wooden dwelling structures were built). The island itself was visible, but sadly concrete had been poured onto the remants, probably to prevent it being washed away. Again, literal remnants didn’t move me so much as the trace of stones leading to the island – just the merest suggestion that in this area at the loch’s edge the stones were just a little raised. Gazing at the stones as dawn rose, rays of sunlight began to reveal the stones beneath the surface, while further away the surface remained opaque. These half-revealed images suggested more to the imagination.

Loch Venachar is fed by the Blackwater River and as we explored further along the river side, I found myself mesmerised by the reflected green/yellow light of foliage in the black water, still as a mirror, which brought to mind Corinthians 13:12:

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

These ideas are complicated to express creatively in an image. Or not so complicated when simply observing what’s there; traces on water – concentric circles, ripples, what’s revealed below, or concealed from view, what is mirrored back to us. Although we can’t know all, we do know that all is connected. When contemplating nature these images become poetic and profound.

This series of three paintings – Trace. Sutton Hoo, Trace, Portnellan Island, Loch Venachar and Trace, Blackwater, will be on show as part of the exhibition Borrowed Land, which launches at The Kilmorack Gallery on the 18th November 2023.

‘Trace. Blackwater’. Oil on 80x80cm canvas. Rose Strang 2023