The afternoon of my second day here (the bulk of the first day being taken up by travelling, unpacking and catching up on lost sleep), and I am overwhelmed by the simple fact of being here. I have been looking forward to this for months, although the anticipation has been tempered by slight anxieties about the journey from North Wales to Shetland – principally the risk of oversleeping and missing the 5.52 (a.m.) train. And then the ferry crossing itself: 12 hours overnight. No problems, as it turned out: all rail connections went smoothly, and the sea was also smooth – just a gentle rolling swell, and a safe harbour at Lerwick.
And here I am, sitting in the (closed-to-the-public-for-the-winter) Visitor Centre at Sumburgh Head Lighthouse. The room has a huge, semicircular window with a 180 degree view taking in Fair Isle to the south west, a glimpse of Foula before passing across the South Mainland and north west to Bressay. The light changes by the minute; blue, blue sea and sky; sudden squalls and indigo clouds; the waves crash and suck at the cliff bottom, with ice-turquoise depths, and then suddenly all is still – just a gentle, roiling motion and skeins of white foam.
My intentions (mission/aims/objectives/whatever) for this residency are to walk, observe, record, and make work (drawing/printmaking/ whatever) that seems relevant to the experience of being in the most northerly archipelago of the British Isles. At the moment, sitting here watching the fulmars wheel round the cliffs, I can think of nothing save the sheer privilege of existence.
