Tag Archives: sea paintings

'Caol Ì (Sound of Iona)'. Mixed media on 16x16" wood. Rose Strang 2026

Caol Ì (The Sound of Iona)

Above: Caol Ì (The Sound of Iona). Mixed media on 16×16″ wood. Rose Strang 2026.

I’ve always found the name of the narrow channel of water between Iona and Mull poetic: The Sound of Iona, or in Scottish Gaelic, Caol Ì. Pronounced ‘Cuhl’ like the ‘u’ in ‘numb’. If you want to get fussy, the ‘L’ is pulled or rolled back in the throat, almost like a Spanish ‘L’. In original Gaelic, it means ‘narrow’ or ‘slender’. and  Ì simply means ‘Iona’, which is the original name of Iona, and is pronounced ‘Eee’.

It would have been called ‘Ì Chaluim Chille‘, meaning ‘The Island of the church of Calum Cille from the time Calum Cille arrived on the island but apparently it was always called  ‘Ì’. 

Hmm, that just means ‘island’ so they must have distinguished it in some way, in the name. Who knows?

Calum Cille was a powerful figure in the history of the Celtic Christian early church, which I’ve written about elsewhere. He was an exiled Irish prince and a well-trained warrior. However, it’s well-documented historically that he led a group of monks according to Christian principles, which you’d imagine would include peaceable ways.

Which brings us back to my painting, which attempts to capture the particular peace of gentle Hebridean rain, standing on Traigh Ban nam Manach (the white shore of the monks) looking towards Mull across the Sound.

In recent years, the Iona Community (an ecumenical Christian group on the island, who run religious programmes through Iona Abbey) have incorporated Celtic pagan forms of worship with Christian, which means a slant towards God in landscape and nature. This is a real Scottish tradition of the Hebrides, since there were not always churches in remote islands, so finding religious meaning in the clouds, the land and light or dark was just what people did.

Here’s a well-known prayer from Iona:

‘Silence.

Be still

and aware of God’s presence

within and all around.’

Here’s the painting again. Wishing you a peaceful week …

'Caol Ì (Sound of Iona)'. Mixed media on 16x16" wood. Rose Strang 2026

‘Caol Ì (Sound of Iona)’. Mixed media on 16×16″ wood. Rose Strang 2026

'Eilean Annraidh from Iona'. Mixed media on 16x16" wood. Rose Strang 2026

Eilean Annraidh from Iona

Above: Eilean Annraidh from Iona. Mixed media on 16×16″ wood. Rose Strang 2026.
The above is pronounced AY-lun AN-ray, meaning The Island of Storms. I’m not worried about people stumbling over the Gaelic pronunciation of these paintings, given that everyone at The Resipole Gallery is familiar with Gaelic and will happily help anyone with correct pronunciation.
This series, including yesterday’s painting, and five more, is destined for an upcoming exhibition at the Resipole titled Facing West. Today’s painting, painted en plein air on Iona, is actually facing north east, but since Iona is in the far western Hebrides of Scotland, I think it counts as westerly.

'Eilean Annraidh from Iona'. Mixed media on 16x16" wood. Rose Strang 2026

‘Eilean Annraidh from Iona’. Mixed media on 16×16″ wood. Rose Strang 2026

This little bar of bright sand viewed from Tràigh Bàn Nam Manach (White Strand of the Monks) is very familiar to anyone from Iona, or anyone who’s visited. We were chatting with people who work in Columba’s Hotel on Iona, both of whom had kayaked there. They told me it actually protects the north east beach from storms, acting as a little breakwater.

Adam and I had dropped in there for a much needed coffee on our way back from painting, and Allie, one of the staff there, really loved the painting, so I asked if they’d like a print of it. They definitely did, so if you ever visit Iona and drop in to the Columba, you’ll spot it somewhere!
This view always looks so striking against the deep blue/purple drama of Mull, which is why this exact same scene has been painted hundreds of times. Especially since the colourists made it famous. They stayed at the nearby cottage of Lagandorain (place of the otters) while painting Iona in the 1920s or thereabouts, and it would take them just a few minutes to walk down to the beach.
Painting on the beach, the light changing all the time…

And a video…


More tomorrow, from the north beach, getting closer up to the sea…

Exhibition Saturday 19th July

Coming up in just 9 days, The Edinburgh Festival Exhibition at The Graystone Gallery, Edinburgh!

Saturday 19th June, 2 to 4pm, Graystone Gallery

Here’s a litle vid showing the inspiration of Iona and clips of the painting process …

Storm Island

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 …

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 the Graystone Gallery is complete. The exhibition launches with a preview on Saturday 19th July from 1 to 3pm. Hope to see you there!

Iona Sea, new exhibitions

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 Gallery exhibition 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!

More next week …

Iona Sea and new exhibitions in 2025

Above: North Beach Iona, May. Oil on 30×20 inch linen canvas. Rose Strang 2025

Lots of exciting new projects coming up!

The painting above is one of a series I’m creating for the Graystone Gallery, Edinburgh for their Edinburgh Festival exhibition, which launches on Saturday July 19th from 1 to 3pm

The painting below is for the Limetree Gallery‘s upcoming Summer Exhibition which launches 3rd July. You can preview or reserve paintings now by contacting them on their website.

(If you’re interested in buying or reserving one of the paintings please contact the galleries direct on the links in the above paragraph, thank you).

I have another three at larger sizes for the Graystone coming up. Readers of the blog will know how much Iona means to me, and to thousands of other people who visit the island every year. It’s a special place I’ve been visiting now for about thirty four years and I’d say it’s one of my biggest inspirations as an artist.

The next larger paintings will be a bit more abstract, but I know that people find these paintings of turquoise sparkling water joyful, and so do I!

This series is doubly special since my partner Adam and I prepared the canvases ourselves with sretcher bars and raw linen.

I’ve kept the lovely texture and colour of the linen by using clear gesso. If you look at the close ups of ‘Sea Light, Iona’ and ‘Iona North Beach, May’ below, you can see the unpainted canvas …

More soon …

Seascapes

Above: Sea Triptych. Oil on three 33×22 inch wood panels.

Below, some smaller works in this new seascapes series –

This series is part-inspired by the Aberlady landscape – which has been a focus this year in most of my paintings.

This style of painting feels very natural and comes easily to me, but I’m still working on expression of the Luffness woods and Carmelite Friary (in Aberlady theme). Sometimes there are too many ideas and it’s better to simply paint instinctively for a while until something more unified swims into focus.

The upshot is that I’ll return to that theme after a brief hiatus into my ‘default mode’ of moody seascapes!

More details soon …

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.

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: