There are certain places in the world which have the ability
to transport even the most cynical of minds far from the cares of the world. On
this journey there are many markers which draw stress and strain from you so
that by the time you reach where ever it is your going the rest of the world
seems a million miles away. For me, this begins on the drive over Rannoch Moor
and down through Glen Coe, on a brilliant road which wends its way amidst some
of the most barren, bleak and wholly stunning scenery that can be found on this
little island that so many of us call home. I think my plus one though I was
slightly dotty as I jabbered on, and on, about how glacial erosion was an
amazing sculptor, and wasn’t it amazing to see the kind of landscapes most
people believe only exist in CG films about Hobbits, and did he think that
people would actually believe that a landscape could be the colours we were
seeing if we took a picture and showed it to them…
 |
| Beautiful, ineffable, awe-inspiring... |
Now I could go on, at great length (really great length)
about this small part of the West Highlands and how it is just breathtaking,
but this is an art blog, not a travel one. What I can do though is share a
little something of our holiday via my favourite subject as I’m not the only person
to be entranced by the quiet mossy glades, rushing pebble strewn rivers,
immaculate and thunderous sunsets, mind-boggling mountain ranges or the bone
white beaches of the islands. The Highlands have been captivating artists for
years and they have created some of truly beautiful images in that time, images
which would seem unrealistic in subject a palette if you hadn’t had chance to
see it with your own eyes.
 |
| Alan Davie, Little Island Phantasy, No.2, 1998. Oil on Board |
I have a theory that I can spot a Scottish artist at an art
fair even if I don’t know anything about them – whilst I am generally that
wonderful at my job, it is actually pretty easy – simply based on the
colouration they use. Given that Scotland has a reputation for being grey and
wet for eleven months of the year (I should add that this is a big, fat fib)
the art produced by its artists tells a different story. I remember the first
time I saw work by a Scottish painter, it was in a tiny gallery in Loch Aline
(now turned into the most delicious restaurant) and the person in question was
named Francis Boag. Time has slightly dulled the old brain matter in some
respects about that holiday, but I firmly remember the vibrancy and colour on
the paper – it seemed to light the whole gallery – and whenever I begin
thinking about Scottish artists he jumps to the forefront.
 |
| A more traditional view of Scotland and admittedly not wholly inaccurate... |
Now I’m not a fan of decorative art, just ask my +1 about my
passionate diatribes on Vettriano , but Boag is a great place to stop on a
whirlwind tour of Scottish art. Now I love a bit of colour; it makes a statement
about who you are, what you believe, where you come from… It is the same with art. Boag is a great
example of the way in which so many Scottish artists have championed their
nationality and country through colour – and not as unrealistically as you may
think. Now I’m not suggesting for one moment that his work be taken literally,
unless you were utterly obliterated on some of the local whisky (yummy), but it
is surprising how much of it is accurate in terms of pigmentation if not 100%
in relation to hue. To my way of thinking, Boag reminds all of us that art is
both seen and felt – it is often the physical manifestation of feeling about a given
place; a highly emotive response to visual stimulation. His Scotland is that of
a man who loves the landscape, the place, the vistas and translates his
emotions into works of beauty which reflect this.
 |
| Francis Boag, Cottages Skye. |
I’ve always been a water baby – I could swim or sail all day
and not get bored for a moment, and I think that for this reason it is the sea
in all its ferocious and serene glory that captures my interest whenever I visit.
It could also be something to do with the fact that we go right to the far west
coast, but I prefer it’s something in my soul rather than something in the
geographical locale which speaks to me… John Houston was a wonderful artist for
capturing the Janus nature of the sea around his home country, immortalising
one particular spot – Bass Rock – forever in numerous pieces. Whilst I am a
huge fan of his oil work, it is his watercolours in their delicate washes and
simple lines which capture the very essence of the Scottish coast. His contrasts
of yellow against grey, purple against primrose, transport one to the shore as
a storm sweeps through or to a quiet dawn above the silent swell. A painting can find expression when even the
most effusive of us fail, and Houston captures more in his washes than ever I
could in trying to describe the scenes I have seen.
 |
| John Houston, Bass Rock and Evening Sky, 1974. Watercolour on Japanese Paper |
One can’t mention the sea without discussing the fishing
villages which cling tenaciously to the rock and are lashed by the worst weather
the Atlantic can throw at them. I spent the best part of a day in Tobermory
when up there last, just witnessing life go by. I watched the tide come in,
heard the fishing boats creak against their moorings and sampled some of the
best seafood I’ve ever had. I should add the caveat that being somewhat new to
the whole Seafood thing I took my cue from my +1 who assured me it really was
awesome… Anyway, there is a quality to a fishing town, village, lonely jetty,
which is to my overly romantic nature, rather wonderful. The boats are like
world-weary adventurers who just can’t quite give up the waves yet and the
bustle is punctuated by the sound of the surf murmuring against the stone
footing of the pier. The locals themselves are hard and weathered in comparison
to the tourists who are soft and scurry for the cover of their warm beds as
soon as the weather invariably turns and the ocean becomes savage. In some of
the remoter outposts one gets a sense of the transient nature of humanity in
the face of the vastness of the natural world; many of the villages are nothing
more than shells where they have been overrun by that which they felt at one
point masters of.
 |
| William Gillies, The Harbour, 1934. Oil on Canvas |
Finally it is to the people of this country that I turn.
There are some who are taciturn and silent, others who are effusive and
welcoming – just as you would find anywhere – and it takes a special kind of
artist to capture this essence of humanity. Joan Eardley is one of my favourite
artists EVER, and I think I should share her with people (and I shall do next
week), just as she shared the people around her with the world. There is a
warmth and depth to her pieces (mostly of street children in the tenement
communities of Glasgow) which reminds me of Goya at times in terms of the self-identification
with the subject. There is despair and dereliction and humour and great love in
these images; one gets a sense of the way in which these children are bound
together, old before their time in some cases, and in others too young to be
cast adrift in the world they are portrayed in. Through it all though there is
an innate sense of pride at where they are being drawn and painted, there is seemingly
no shame at their poverty. In fact, more often than not, the easy self-absorption
of the subjects in this world, rather than that of the painter, comes across as
pride in their surroundings and way of life. It reminds me very much of many of
the people I have had the privilege to meet from this part of the world – we may
not choose their surroundings ourselves, but they survive and flourish there,
bringing warmth and humanity to even the bleakest of landscapes.
 |
| Joan Eardley, Some of the Samson Children, 1961. Oil on Canvas |
It seems that people are so ready to write places off
without getting to know them. The landscapes and peoples of Scotland are as
vital, vibrant and beautiful as anywhere else I have travelled. It may not be
everyone’s destination of choice, but I recon I could see some more of it and
not get bored of it; especially a little spot on the South West side of Mull
which would be just perfect for a small house for a couple of nutters to enjoy the sunsets...
