scotland

Last month I visited the places my father and his family came from: Elgin, Bernie, Lossiemouth and Burghead. These villages and towns are by the Moray Firth, along the North East coast of Scotland. The Moray Firth delineates the outermost edges of habitat for dolphins to survive (but not thrive) and the Aurora Borealis has been seen from this coast, it is a beautiful place. If you drew a straight line east from Elgin you would arrive at the southern tip of Norway, somewhere I was lucky enough to visit last year and the echo of Scotland was apparent in the landscape (and visa versa). I feel a strong connection to these lands and have a sense of home and belonging when I'm there. This trip was about creating space to be in, look at and experience by walking around and about. This time I was drawn to historic religious buildings and the particular vernacular of this region, structure, history, solid things that will outlive me.

I've visited this region of Scotland since I was a toddler, the agricultural landscape is in my blood somehow, the towns, the lanes, the skies, the deep rich soil, the scattered farms, the distilleries. To be there helps me in my understanding and communication with those who have gone before, my flesh and blood. Though it may sound romantic it's not particularly, I can understand that it was a hard life for them eking out their livings in these places and surviving two world wars. The other side of the coin is that they must have also experienced beauty in their lives and lived the spirit of these landscapes. They would have felt its power and their own power too.

Looking up from Elgin Cemetery

Elgin Cemetery - in memory of their children

Elgin Cathedral

Elgin Cathedral

Elgin Cathedral

Cathedral tombstone

Spynie Palace

 View towards Lossiemouth from Spynie

 Elgin

 Elgin

 Burghead

 Cooper Park, Elgin

   Pluscarden Abbey

dad

A days walking ritual from Elgin to Lossiemouth and back in forgiveness and in honour of my father Robert Logan. 

wooly thinking

knitting - pattern - mapping

anxiety - belonging - getting lost - getting found

solace in the familiar

in making

in creating

doing what I know I can

not thinking too hard

seeing the impact of time and skill

a stitch for a step

a way to avoid and hide

a way to find myself

to feel the ache of sitting too long

to imagine the next project while working on this one

the wool 

a line 
that will guide me out of the dark forest

a trail of bread to be eaten by birds

an escape route

a rhythm 

a beat 

a measure

not in use

While walking to the market I saw an older lady with a full shopping bag waiting at a bus stop, from my vantage point I could see the neon orange hood that had been placed over the bus stop sign THIS BUS STOP IS NOT IN USE. Assuming that the lady had seen the sign and was waiting for someone to come out of the nearby shop I almost walked past her. When level with her I asked if she was waiting for the bus, she said yes, so pointing up I showed her the sign. The lady was crestfallen, she had a walking stick and I felt very sorry for her as she began to walk to the next stop some distance away. She said ‘oh, this is not good for me’. How long had she been standing there? How many people had walked past making the same assumption I toyed with? A small thing incident, a chance to help another and a wish that I could have whisked her up and taken her to her destination.

giving

For the last few days I've walked miles around Walthamstow, moving through, searching out, looking at and talking to friends and strangers. While walking the city being asked for money is a common experience, but when to give and when to withhold? Recently I've visited a Buddhist centre and am learning about meditation and Buddhist beliefs. I've understood that life is a series of experiences and opportunities to practice patience, kindness and giving to those who express need. Opening my heart to love all no matter what others do or don't do... I'm sitting with this, attempting to remain open, allowing these ideas to seep through my resistance and reasonings.

Yesterday, while getting my bearings by a bus stop a man began talking to me. He was a middle aged fellow wearing a threadbare suit and clutching a bible, this appeared to be his only possession. He was distressed and in an african accent told me he was an engineer and that he hadn't had anywhere to sleep or anything to eat for three days. I gave him a few pounds and he sped off saying, 'I'll get something to eat'. What struck me was how quickly he walked away, he was genuinely hungry. I've wondered about him since, wishing I'd given more money, wondering if his story was true (not wanting to be a mug, be ripped off), knowing in my gut something has gone very wrong for him. As he walked away he said, 'God bless you', this touched me because in my giving to him he gave to me, wishing me blessed. My wish for him is a roof over his head and warm food in his belly. Whatever this mans story no one wants to beg for money, to be reliant on the kindness of strangers.

gift

Returning to E17, I have a feeling of home. Trotting about my old haunts I'm alert to and grateful for this after my unhomely years in Sheffield.

I walked as a stranger, a player in a film about my life. Watching myself be, monitoring my moves, recording it as an experience I knew wouldn't last. As yet I don't understand why, one day I'll join the dots but for now its simply somewhere that wasn't home. This was my dirty little secret as most Sheffield folk were horrified and perplexed at any mention of not liking the city, my southern accent (that belies my North East Scottish heritage) jumped on as a reason for not coping with The North. City as body, as a pulse that runs through flesh, as a site where words can wound.

What an amazing stepping stone Sheffield was in creating a path to greater self awareness and focusing my thinking towards creating what I want in my life, being strategic for the first time EVER. What a gift. I'm sitting with this now, questions forming, answers yet to materialise - I'm liberated, hopeful, unsure.

jubilee

Love the variety of fabrics, poses and attitudes in this Diamond Jubilee celebration in a garden on Sark. Scarecrow meets haberdashery treasure chest.

sark

The Island where I told my sister that I loved her and my weeping took me by surprise.  

long time, no see

Its been a strange old time lately, a time of no address and moving from friends house to friends house while I find my feet and relocate in London. What I've learnt is I dearly want a home and am committed to making this happen, and SOON. Home will provide me with a stepping stone to move forward into the next chapter of life, how exciting. I've also learnt that I'm blessed with friends who give a shit, who opened up their living spaces to me and this has been a gentle reminder of belonging. In all unsettling experiences there are lessons and this one has allowed me to understand on a deeper level what I need and to summon the momentum and energy to make it happen. I'm adept at packing and moving on but the time has come to challenge myself to settle and be part of a community. 

Today I was out walking with a group of young people as we are working on a project inspired by Richard Long and his meanderings around and about. This had nothing to do with our project but of course caught my eye, as memorials tend too bring out the mournful magpie in me. For a man who drowned I was told. Plastic flowers and synthetic ribbon, a tree carries the message of remembrance. I'm sorry for this man and his family.

park hill

Last weekend I finally climbed the hill behind Sheffield train station and saw British Modern Remade in the Park Hill Estate. Met a Creative practitioner colleague from Hepworth and swooshed upwards in the lift to the 12th floor to see painting, sculpture and collage (missed the film bit...) from the Arts Council Collection. Felt like an intruder as we snooped around the empty flats oohing at stripped back surfaces and smooth sliding doors. The view of Sheffield was astonishing: nestled between tree covered hills, the city laid out like an architects model. And of course there was the art, beautifully staged and appearing as if it had always existed within the space. The work mirrored the permanent collect at The Hepworth Wakefield, and one of the sculptures will be winging its way to the gallery from this show.

I'm on the brink of leaving Sheffield and returning to my pined for London, city of my birth that has invisible threads tugging and pulling me back. To see Sheffield laid before me reaffirmed how little I know of this place and I'm looking forward to returning as a visitor, with time to take in, be in and explore this city.

My colleague/friend Liz then took me to Sheffield Museum for a treat of tea and cake, so all in all this leaving lark has its benefits! 

I'm very glad I moved to Sheffield, I'm leaving with different understandings that wouldn't have been gained if i'd not taken the plunge and I'll carry this knowledge into the next chapter. I've also gained a brace of Yorkshire friends who will provide their own threads to draw me back in the future.

lost and found

This warmed the cockles of my heart today.

waste not

On monday I had a marvelous day in London with my sister. We visited The Hayward and saw the David Shrigley and Jeremy Deller shows. Loved the shopping list etched onto a gravestone and snorted over many of Shrigley's clever drawings. Tea united the exhibitions and in Deller's space I enjoyed a beverage in Valerie's Snack Bar while watching the snack bar trundling down the street in a video of a procession in Manchester. The exhibition felt very familiar, nostalgic even as I was presented with a past I'd been part of and a present I inhabit now. Back in 2005 Deller's show Folk Archive was a revelation to me and continues to be source of inspiration, the accompanying book is one of my favorite possessions. 

Song Dong's installation in The Barbican was affecting. Systematically arranged for our viewing were the contents of his mothers home, she hoarded all items thinking they would be of future use. This was a cultural and personal response to her life experiences and looking at her possessions laid bare was intriguing. While mooching through the stuff of her life I considered loss, value and the complexity of family relationships.

upperthorpe

Today I wondered the boundary of Upperthorpe in Sheffield. Walking anti clockwise with Upperthorpe to my left, meandering along paths and streets that were new to me, quietly observing the edge of the neighbourhood. A man told me, 'there are dogs up there, they may growl but don't worry, they won't do anything'. I trotted on, heart thudding and upon seeing the pack attempted to project a casual attitude. This lasted seconds before I clocked the dogs had friendly eyes and was rewarded with wags and strokes and dog hairs on my navy jacket. Later while trudging up hill sweating, I yearned for the flat (note to self - get fitter). Near the end of my boundary walk I found a yellow post it note stating 'Who Why', sensible questions if you ask me. 

This wandering has been inspired by the Occursus Project, led by Dr Amanda Crawley Jackson (University of Sheffield) in collaboration with Bloc and Site Gallery.

owlerton

Last week I jumped on the number 66 bus from Sheffield city centre and traveled to Owlerton, an unpromising journey to the side of a busy road, out of town casino and dog track and Hillsborough College with cannabis smoking youth outside. Crossing the A61, I walked up Livesey Street, over a bridge across the River Don and climbed stone steps to a dirt path surrounded by trees. Unmarked on the Sheffield A to Z is a cemetery in a patch of slopping woodland. It climbs up to and is contained by a train track, and crisscrossed with well trodden paths. While a handful of people passed by as I snooped about, it is an unpeopled spot and I kept my wits about me. I experienced that odd sense of feeling alone while next to the traffic hum, police siren wail, clatter of industry and prickly pylon buzz. 

Picking my way between the headstones I was in my element, woods and graves combined! I'm fascinated by the stories the headstones tell of Mary, Thomas, Clara and George and the unfortunate roll call of dead children carved into slate. While wandering graveyards I think about the current population being interred, Kyle's and Kylie's one day taking their place by Edith and Arthur - these current names, one day holding nostalgia of times past.

I found a newly dead pigeon, colours still vibrant, flies beginning to land. I found trees hugging headstones, branches wrapped as a comforting arm, a steadying hug and in some cases an overwhelming embrace. I talked to a man with a dog and he told me, 'these are war veterans these'.