I cannot wholly describe the rush of excitement when you make a connection of how ‘things’ work. The lightbulb moments of discovery. Of course, there have been many people before me, but that doesn't matter. The dopamine drug release is immeasurable, and I am about to burst. My words come out in the wrong order because I am so excited then I tic.
This time the chemical reward is released when I understand the link between pinhole photography, lumen prints and solargrams. I have just processed my first ever solargram using a home-made solar can. Set at a high vantage point facing south, loaded with lustre multigrade paper. I leave the can out for just a week because I want to make sure that I am conducting the experiment correctly. Scratch that, its because I am impatient!
Solargrams are like lumen prints in that exposure times are prohibitively long. You cannot put the exposed prints into developer because the prints will turn black. If you resolve to fix them, then you must be prepared to lose some or all of the beautiful colours and tones you have captured. I am a risk taker, and I am afraid I lost many images because of my determination to own them. I did not want to let the sun eventually steal them from me. It was painful to let go of the physical prints, but then I lost them anyway in my determination to keep them.
Back to my solar can experiment, created with guidance from photographer Justin Quinell: I will post a link to his tutorial at the end of this blog post. Justin advises that you scan in your solargram. You have essentially one chance, maybe two and then you can also keep the physical exposure in a lightproof environment. Doing what I was told, (for a change), I was rewarded with my first charming solargram. A lesson in listening, chemistry, physics, and acceptance.

I knew there was something wrong these last few months, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. No more shared coffee or lunch breaks, keeping clear of the office. I struggled to work out what I had done wrong to upset my friend of over two decades and was at the point of asking when I found out accidentally from a line manager. My friend had decided to retire and handed in her notice. Her last day was a couple of weeks away.

The next day I confessed that I knew her secret. Knowing that I would be upset she had waited to tell me near the end. Tears emitted from the two of us and although she is reserved, she gave me the biggest and hardest of hugs. And that’s when I became ‘last man standing’. The final member of the old Angus College Art Department gang. Which got me to reminiscing how I arrived here.

April 2001. I had been teaching evening classes in Forfar when I was approached by Angus College to teach the Saturday morning children’s class in Brechin. I think it was a ‘try before you buy’ arrangement because at the end of the term I was asked to come in for an interview in respect of a part time position teaching mainstream classes after the summer holidays. Now here comes a secret…

I was asked if I was able to deliver the darkroom photography units. Understanding what an amazing opportunity and foot in the door this was, I of course said yes. However, as it stood, I was unable to deliver what they required having only had a handful of darkroom lessons myself! Arrogantly or confidently, I am not sure which, I decided that I would teach myself in the summer holidays all that was required before the new term resumed.

And that has been the modus operandi ever since. 24 years of learning new skills then passing them on. I am not sure if it is in my nature or whether I have recognised that I needed to keep updating my skills in respect of the job. Both I think.
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So, I end this post with a dedication to my colleague Sarah MacLean. I think because you are quiet and don’t make a fuss, people underestimate you. But I understand your resilience, your wise-ness, your kindness.  I have learned much from you, and I am indebted to our friendship. Enjoy your retirement, you deserve it very much.

Another fantastic weekend at the Scottish Sculpture Workshop in Lumsden. This time to try and master the potters wheel.

On a previous attempt at wheel throwing (untutored I might add) I ended up brown top to toe covered in clay that could have easily been employed in the making of several pots! The result of my ambitious endeavours was one tiny not very well formed vessel and a scab on the side of my hand. The clay I had mistakenly used was full of grit that tore into the flesh. 

Thankfully the fruits of my labours where bountiful under the guidance of ceramicist Amy Benzie. I am not going to lie, it wasn't easy. Saturday brought forth no vessels of worth. But on Sunday morning something clicked and I pulled my first bowl, followed by a second, third and forth. Each one becoming easier to form and taller in stature. You will be able to tell which is the first and last in the photograph.

If I had no financial constraints, I would always choose to be a student over a lecturer. Working full-time means the weekends are taken up with domestic chores and sustaining family and friends’ connections. Not that I am complaining, I am very lucky to have so many people around that love and support me. It’s the domestic chores that bore me! So, I am ever eager for the end of the academic year and a protracted amount of time to play. When it does finally arrive, the summer break is always greeted with enthusiasm and thanks. It is a time for relaxation, reflection, rejuvenation and personal growth.

For a long time, I have wanted to enrol on a course at the Scottish Sculpture Workshop in Lumsden. A few years earlier they advertised a short course in bronze casting. Unable to attend, I revisited their website for new dates. However, it wasn’t to be. First Covid, then a change of staff at the workshop meaning they could no longer offer the class.

The loss of a ceramic’s expert at my own place of work has meant that I have had to reskill. A four-week evening class at ‘Clay Half’ in Montrose, backed up by YouTube videos, repetition, trial and error. I love the medium, but it is problematic, and to date the construction of sophisticated artefacts has been beyond me. Therefore, I was very excited to see advertised a weekend residential at the Scottish Sculpture Workshop that would enable me to create slip casting plaster moulds.

When we first moved to Scotland, money was tight for my parents. I was conscious that money was an issue, but I didn’t understand fully until I was much older. To make ends meet, my brother and I were sent out to collect kindling from the woods or search for clinker (stoney residue from burnt coal) along the disused railway track next to our home. We lived in an old Station House at Clocksbriggs, mid route between Forfar and Arbroath.
 
It was along the railway track by our home that we discovered a midden. In the days before refuse collection by the council bin lorry, cottages would dispose of their household waste at the bottom of the garden. As time passed, especially after inclement weather, treasures would become half exposed. Excited we dug in search of artefacts - amateur archaeologists inspired by Indianna Jones. A white glass face cream bottle, pottery, glass bottles with raised lettering, I still have some of these early finds. We even dug up a whole cast iron bed, scrubbed it down and painted it. I have seen a similar one in the ruins of a cottage at the abandoned village of Pitmiddle in Perthshire. Goodness knows how old it is.
 
I wonder if these early discoveries are what made me always mindful of the treasures beneath our feet. Why I am forever searching, whether it be the shoreline or my vegetable patch. When we go walking the fields at home there is always plenty of pottery to be found in a newly ploughed field. But why all over the field? A question that has perplexed me for several years. That was until I was provided the answer by way of an old farmer. Cottage and town midden rubbish would be carted and emptied into farmers’ fields. The ashes from the fire and organic waste matter providing welcome nutrients for the crops. I don’t know why I didn’t work it out myself. It makes perfect sense. 

The first experiments involved the employment of my box brownie cameras, using analogue film (a rich man’s game) and direct positive paper (still a rich man’s game, but not as bad as the first option.) Each media had its advantages and disadvantages. Film may be expensive, but you can make decent enlargements. The paper positives are cheaper, and you see the results straight away, but they are small, and one offs. Unless that is, you digitise them. With film your camera is loaded with 9 exposures. With the paper, your camera is loaded with only one exposure. To get round this, I took several cameras on protracted contemplative walks that would be repeated numerous times in one day till I got the images I wanted. It may sound annoying, but I enjoyed these perambulations very much.

In addition to the darkroom pieces are a couple of mixed media works. Although only a small component of the show, this exploration of paint made for a happy and long overdue return to the easel.
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It feels f**king great to be making again! Even more amazing to see the framed works coherently telling the story of an explored theme. The endeavours of this year’s summer holiday exertions culminating in an exhibition that can be viewed at Eden Court Theatre on the first-floor gallery till Friday 1st of December. A joint show of recent works with my friend Jim Boon. 

Finally, it has arrived, the best part of being a lecturer. The summer holidays! Protracted time for my own creative practice.

First, a meeting with Jim over cake and coffee to discuss our forthcoming show. The title, our joint statement, timings, wall space. It is all beginning to feel a bit more real.
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Next day, the restoration of an antique contact printer which has now been fitted with a UV light source along with the bathroom being converted into a part-time darkroom for argyrotype production. Nuanced sepia tones in sympathy with the showcase theme. This iron-based silver alternative printing process being one part of several employed methodologies, for I have also been painting, sepia toning fibre based photographs and plan to make some experimental lumen prints. I have made lumen prints before, accidentally in the darkroom whilst making pinhole images. The scraps of trimmed down photographic paper revealing the graphic images of the pair of scissors left on them. Unbeknownst to me at the time, these photograms can be saved. To save the image the normal process would be to place an exposed photogram into developer, stop bath and fixer. If you did this with lumen prints though the paper would go completely black as they have been grossly overexposed. Instead, these eerie strange coloured prints are just placed in the fixer. Reading up I have discovered that expired paper is great for this process, rendering unpredictable results. I am excited to report that over the years I have amassed a stock!

​'Traces' - Eden Court Theatre, 30th October to 1st December

'Traces' is a collaborative exhibition featuring the work of artists Jim Boon and Oonagh Devoy.

The work explores themes common to both artists which centre on how landscape, both rural and urban, coastal and hinterland, are in perpetual flux due to causes like time, elemental forces, or human and animal activity. These forces serve to continually modify the environment in an imperceptibly subtle way.

The exhibition features paintings and photographs inspired by this shared narrative and is selected to reflect a compatible and complimentary aesthetic.
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The end of the year is always a time for collective contemplation. Analysing what has transpired, wondering if we could have changed the outcomes with better made judgments. Trusting we are wiser individuals, looking into the future with courage and hope.

Last week my best friend from primary school died. Death seems more shocking when the person who has passed on is younger or the same age as yourself. Again, you contemplate and look backwards. This time it is a period of introspection, you feel more panicked and vulnerable, more deeply aware of your fragility.
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Then there are the happy reflective times. Today my child turned 21 and we celebrated with family and friends at a birthday lunch. A celebration of togetherness, tenderness, and optimism.

There is an extra date each year when I am reminded of the passing of time, the end of the college academic year. When I accepted my 6-hour contract in 2001, I never expected that two decades later I would be the only f/t member in the Arbroath Art Department. The department has changed dramatically, and I wish I had understood at the outset what I was about to lose and gain.
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It had never been my ambition to teach full-time. However, personal circumstances dictated that I was responsible for paying all the bills, and for a time I felt cheated that I didn’t have the time to be a creative. That was until I realised that I was being creative every day! Collaborating on college days with creative fervent minds, learning new skills year on year, transcribing ideas for future projects and seeking out new exhibiting opportunities. The next exhibition being a joint show at The Eden Court Theatre with my friend Jim Boon, an artist whom I admire greatly and am in awe of. So, there is much work to be done this summer in the studio so as not to show him up. I believe it is always best to work and play with people who are more accomplished as it forces you to better yourself. Your trajectory must be upwards, and you must try your hardest to not be afraid to fail. For we learn as much from failure as we do from success.

Ignorance or arrogance...?

Arrogance I'm afraid, I have always believed I was superhuman. I thought that my perfect eyesight would last forever. So when four years ago I was prescribed reading glasses, I was shocked and didn't wear them. At my next eye test 2 years later I was prescribed a stronger pair. This time the glasses could no longer be ignored - I had noticed the decline myself. I was indignant.

Please understand my frustration, my eyes are my job, observation to aid creation. Forever I am banging on at my students, "95% looking, 5% drawing". When I take photographs I have always preferred to use the manual settings. I hate not being in control...

So it seemed apt when I was gifted a roll of Kodak Recording Film 2475  by a neighbour. A high speed, very coarse grain film that is prone to fogging, (a cruel metaphor?) Perfect for my next outing with my architect friend Mark Chalmers to Montreathmont Woods. A  location that has separate symbolisation for us both. 

For myself, it has several special timeframes. As a youth, myself, my brother and our friends would cycle there for adventures. In my late teens, my parents moved to a cottage at the edge of the woods. This time exploration became braver as I ventured deeper into the thick coniferous forest. Latterly, Montreathmont became a place that I visited in self hypnosis. A calming, restorative, safe environment. The textures and smells comforting - dense musty moss underfoot neighbouring peaty warm ponds that enveloped and cradled. It is no exaggeration to say it has been a spiritual place of healing for me.

What endured as a place of healing for myself however was also the setting of a battle between the Picts and the Romans, at Battle Well, Montreathmont Moor. A bloody battle where it was recounted that the blood of the fallen flowed in the Battle Burn as far as Fithie, near Farnell. The blood that flowed so freely having long ago been absorbed by the land. The numerous deaths unevidenced except for bones of the past that emerge from time to time from the earth.

It has been decades since I last physically visited, so I was curious if time had fogged my memory as well as my eyesight. As you would expect many trees have fallen or been felled, but essentially the ambience of Montreathmont remains.

​I believe it is me that has changed more dramatically.
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Supplement:
Seems that Mark gifted me the film some time ago.
I did wonder as I thought it was strange that the 2475 came with a bundle of Truprint.

Which suits the theme of this months blog, Fogging!

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