A friend asked me the other day what I'd been up to recently.  I answered very unsatisfactorily, I suspect.  "Oh, this and that," I said.  I managed to gather my thoughts sufficiently to mention a couple of reasonably concrete things - a new outlet for my work, plans for the open studios event later in the year.   I feel as if I have been pretty busy recently, but it's all fairly disparate, with not a lot of tangible results for my efforts.  Perhaps it is time to take stock, see where I am with various projects, and start prioritising what to do next.  North East Open Studios seems a long way off (it's not really, it's in 4 months' time!).

This is the problem I find with working creatively, on my own.  The lack of a sounding board, someone to say "that's not one of your best ideas, what about that other one you mentioned the other day?" - the less brutal version of "that idea is rubbish.... next!"   I find I am often full of ideas, but whether it is worth pursuing them can be a difficult decision. Recently, I have done a bit more drawing, as well as some sketching out and about (sitting on the harbour at Portsoy was so lovely, especially in the sunshine).  It made me recall how much I enjoy this; absorption is total, concentration absolute, focus intense.  Time just disappears.  I had hoped to do a pile of sketches, and managed three or four.  I tried doing a few in the city centre the other day, but found that I needed to find a quiet spot, somewhere I could sit, as I felt too conspicuous otherwise.  The practicalities of balancing sketchbook, water pot and tiny box of watercolours also have to be taken into account.  Of course I took photographs as well, many of Portsoy harbour.  I very much admire the work of John Glynn, who I believe is now based in Moray. When I got back to my shed/studio I had a go at doing a simplified drawing of Findochty harbour, inspired by his style.  It was an interesting exercise, which made me focus even more clearly on the shapes I was seeing, and avoid making "sketchy" marks.   Plans are afoot to do some drawings like this, using some of the reference photos I've taken recently of northeast harbours.  There we go, a plan has been crystallised before my very eyes!  Thank you for listening/reading :)

Two whole weeks away on the west coast.  Wonderful. The weather was "mixed" - the polite Scottish way of saying that there was no blazing sunshine or sunbathing on the beautiful beaches.  No, it was more a case of rushing out for a walk between the showers, watching the sky for a darkening, making the most of the patches of blue.  The wind kept the midges away; no-one got sunburnt, we had a lovely time.   This time the time away included an adventure involving crossing the Minch (it would be fun to play the tune on the ferry) to the island of Lewis to visit my daughter, who is there for the summer.  

We were treated to a family fishing trip and caught lots of lively, silvery blue/green mackerel and even some haddock.  It took me back to fishing with a handline in Lochcarron as a child - the thrill of feeling that bite on your line, the guessing (to start with) what would be on it, and learning the feel of the way the fish moved.  Maybe it was no coincidence that I went on to spend many years doing mackerel research work.   This time we used sea rods - good sturdy, simple contraptions. No casting involved, which makes very good sense in a small boat with four rods deployed. Unlock the reel, finger over the line, let it out till it hits the bottom, reel it in a bit, then jiggle up and down (gently), and wait.  Of course the folk who took us out knew exactly where to go, which helped!

Lewis. What a place - vast expanses of sky and moor and beaches that stretch as far as the eye can see.   Oodles of abandoned houses and sheds, many with half their roofs torn off.  Rusting corrugated iron galore. Since I was with family, there was less time to take photographs; some day soon I hope to go back.  We made a visit to Luskentyre beach on Harris (I still haven't worked out exactly how the division between Harris and Lewis works, but we did pass signs indicating the end of one and the start of the other).   The sun came out and the sea was that magical turquoise that comes from sea over sand.  A fortuitously washed up log on the beach made a perfect place to perch and sketch.  The family were thoughtful enough to leave me to it.  I only moved when I realised the tide was about to reach my feet.  Bliss.  One day I will capture that colour. One day.

"So, is there anything to do round here, then?" I was asked by someone I met on the beach the other day. They had never been to the area before.  
My answer at the time was a bit glib - 
"Well, there are no shops or cinemas, if that's what you mean." 

I meant clothes shops, department stores and multiplex cinemas, of course.  There are grocery stores, a very good butcher and a rather well-stocked book shop. Since then I have been thinking.

It's all a matter of what you want to do.  This is your kind of place if - 
- a stroll on the beach, gathering cockle and limpet shells, empty sea urchins and the occasional starfish appeals to you

- you can stand and watch the waves crashing on the shore, without being impatient to move on 
- you see the rapidly changing weather as a source of fascination and varying light conditions
- carrying a camera is a way of life
- carrying a sketch book and pencil and maybe a small box of watercolours is a way of life
- you like mucking about in boats and fishing, both fresh and salt water
- you enjoy any kind of walking - hill-walking, mountain climbing or a brisk march along a sandy beach
- you play golf
- you like horse riding
- you don't get phased by single track roads and know the appropriate polite gestures to use when driving on them.


I don't think I'm finished with this theme. To be continued.
  

Spring is finally here. Daffodils and tulips are blooming. And Forsythia and flowering currants, as shown in this photograph.  There are tiny fresh green leaves appearing on the trees and the birds around in the woods are very active and vocal.  It feels as if it has been a long winter, despite the fact that it was not very cold. We had a few snaps of frost and flurries of snow, but that was it. Today there was a lot of sunshine.  Pigeons were frolicking on the rooftops.  And now, funnily enough, we have chosen to travel abroad for some  Mediterranean sunshine.  There will be sketching, photography and plenty of book reading, I hope. I will be keeping an eye open for the flowers that are blooming there just now.

One of the many things I love about the west coast is the light.  More specifically, the way the light changes. One minute you can be walking along the beach with blue skies all around and the next, the sky is slate grey and so is the sea.  And more often than not, there are wet spots on the stones and pebbles on the beach, or pock marks in the sand, if there is a significant amount of precipitation.  There may be a gleaming patch of sunlight on the sea, in the distance.  Not so much a patch, perhaps, as a sliver, a sliver of silver.  And then there are the beams of light which come down through the clouds, a reminder that the sun is in fact still up there, waiting to put in another appearance.   This rapidly changing light is great for photography, but much trickier for painting in situ (or plein air, as they say).  It's a good incentive to work quickly so as to capture the moment.  Soon it will be warm enough again to do some outdoor sketching and painting again - I'm looking forward to it.