Original on canvas
This painting continues an exploration into the emotions held in the landscape and how these differ between us as a consequence of our own experiences and culture.
One of my earliest memories is being with my father in Co. Fermanagh as he cut turf in the bog. I sat and watched; I’d been told not to wander off as we were surrounded by ponds and sink holes. That feeling that the landscape can be malevolent remains with me to this day, along with the reassurance that I would always be safe with my Father.
You can see this little house across Moine Mhor, a terrifying place to me, the house is a place of safety and stability in the mire. I hear the people who lived here, their voices are still in the landscape. As I paint, my mind often drifts to my great grandfather and his four brothers, all of them highlanders, all had survived the charnel house of Flanders. Did they listen like me to the roar of the Corryvreckan? Did they look at this great mire and this little house? I wish I knew, I wish I could ask them.
“The beneficent lights dim but don’t vanish. The razory edges dull, but still cut. He’s gone: but you can see his tracks still, in the snow of the world.” –Norman MacCaig