*** THIS IS A PRE-ORDER. PRINTS WILL BE SHIPPED AT THE END OF AUGUST, ONCE THE EXHIBITION HAS ENDED ***
An A4 print of “THE ALIEN PANCAKES OF CÙL MòR”, part of my exhibition Neither Warlord or Poet, running at The Ceilidh Place in Ullapool until 8th August
Signed and numbered
Delivered in a presentation box
Ready to frame
Assynt has a primordial grip on me, a tangential connection. Perhaps it is something to do with my heritage from Wester Ross. Perhaps it is just the vast and unquestioning connection that the rock here has to the very, very distant past of all Earth’s creation. This landscape is so old that its presence tells rich stories of wisdom, endurance and persistence. It’s not an ordinary concept to respect or pity rocks, yet I do. The turmoil these rocks have been subjected to is so brutal that at times my heart bleeds for their troubles. Suilven... an inselberg that I hold in such abstract and lauded esteem oozes character from every aspect. The grumpy face of the sad grey giant from the West, from the east a towering bum of pride, from the south and north appearing as the sleeping giant, bloated and tired, gasping at the sky. I love this place with the grief of death, it’s darkened, long lasting aspect a chilling reminder of my fleshy insignificance.
*** THIS IS A PRE-ORDER. PRINTS WILL BE SHIPPED AT THE END OF AUGUST, ONCE THE EXHIBITION HAS ENDED ***
An A4 print of “THE ALIEN PANCAKES OF CÙL MòR”, part of my exhibition Neither Warlord or Poet, running at The Ceilidh Place in Ullapool until 8th August
Signed and numbered
Delivered in a presentation box
Ready to frame
Assynt has a primordial grip on me, a tangential connection. Perhaps it is something to do with my heritage from Wester Ross. Perhaps it is just the vast and unquestioning connection that the rock here has to the very, very distant past of all Earth’s creation. This landscape is so old that its presence tells rich stories of wisdom, endurance and persistence. It’s not an ordinary concept to respect or pity rocks, yet I do. The turmoil these rocks have been subjected to is so brutal that at times my heart bleeds for their troubles. Suilven... an inselberg that I hold in such abstract and lauded esteem oozes character from every aspect. The grumpy face of the sad grey giant from the West, from the east a towering bum of pride, from the south and north appearing as the sleeping giant, bloated and tired, gasping at the sky. I love this place with the grief of death, it’s darkened, long lasting aspect a chilling reminder of my fleshy insignificance.
