Framing
So: black and white, charcoal and granite, which – rather erroneously – I’ve referred to as ‘colour choices’ (there are others: red and green but more about those later).
There’s a chapter in McKerrow’s geology guide called “Arran In Time And Space”. He begins “When we stand in Arran on sediments originally deposited by turbidity currents in an ocean basin, it is natural to enquire about the nature of…” he goes on… what I’d like to think he’s thinking is how we define space and place, particularly the Arran-ness of Arran: a place framed and contained by a distinct liquid border.
Within the NTS estate there are few defined spaces, the most prominent is the walled garden, there’s also the cemetery: railings keeping lush grasses and three simple gravestones within, tall trees without add height and shade creating almost a box-like space.
Many artists begin with a clean sheet of paper or canvas. I look for a space, a place. On high Northumbrian moorland the hazy outline of the ‘old pheasant field’ became the frame within which to work.
On the estate the place that’s drawing me in is by the ‘Spanish Gate’. The removal of rhododendrons and a fallen tree has left a gap – a gash almost – in the woods near to the castle. The soil is dark, soft and rich; I love the coolness of it and can imagine it all as darker, richer, liquidity.
Burnt Offerings / The New Black
Sleek black glistening fragments lie scattered at the lip of the ranger’s charcoal burner, I had tagged along with a ‘party’ cleaning and re-jigging the flues during my first visit on Arran.
In amongst the abundant flora, fauna and geology of the island a few materials – and colours – stand out and have become the start points for ideas. First among these is charcoal black.
In the woods and gardens of the estate, rangers and gardeners – with the support of volunteers – seek to keep rhododendrons in check; their spread denies light to forest floors and within the gardens, the aim is to halt the spread of a fungal-like disease. Once cut the branches are burnt in situ creating charred circles on the cleared earth, the limbs are transported to the charcoal burner. The ‘good’ charcoal is sold in the shop, whilst 3 sacks of the unsellable stuff – the half-burnt and the dust – sit in my workspace.
Moving Mountains
Standing staring at G E Hering’s ‘View of Brodick Bay’ something is not right, a castle guide has seen the problem before and comes over to help out “the mountains are in the wrong place”. She’s right; Goatfell can’t be where he’s painted it.
Before catching the ferry, with time on my hands, I try to locate where he would have set up easel. Back home I overlay my photos with the print to investigate what he’s done.
If I triangulate shore and castle with the tip of Goatfell then the sweep of the bay and backs of the lower hills carry on well beyond what would make a nice composition of ‘a bay’; if I scale for: shoreline, height of Goatfell and headland, then both mountain and castle speed away to the right of their start locations. It’s what artists do: manipulate, re-imagine and change, but it’s curious how – as spectator – I want to see how it ‘really was’ when I know ‘really’ never was.
