Sadly, it became apparent that my coracle will simply not be made in time for my exhibition, this is not to say that it will not be made…in fact I firmly believe that it will be realised one day…but not during these days.
For the first time that I can remember, I have had to temporarily abandon a project that I felt was so close and had been the centre of my attention for so long. It took many weeks for me to finally bite the bullet and let it go…not least because of the time and effort that Mike Ellis willingly gave to the idea. The specially constructed drawing bench that stands the length of my studio is a constant reminder of what I had so long intended, like an intake of breathe held unnaturally long, the coracle was conspicuous by absence despite the never ending promise of its construction. The problem in the end was the wood. It wasn’t that we didn’t have any Ash, it was just that the Ash in these parts was not up to it.
I feel that with the long pauses between my own work in the endeavour to realise the youth art programme, I have almost lost or at least misplaced the intuition to recognise when a project is resisting completion.
With my decision to move on and redirect my energies. I felt a sense of release only to be halted by a brick wall. Where is my practice?
Dave Illingworth, my friend with whom I began the dynamo tests and trials with way back at the beginning, died in February.
http://www.northern-times.co.uk/news/fullstory.php/aid/5691/Mr_Dave_Illingworth,_Skerray.html
Dave will forever be in a boat with me somewhere between Skerray and Eilean Nan Ron, Island of the Seals. Like so many projects begun here in the North, the dynamo challenge was never completed, a human field of dynamo turning Highlanders never came to pass.
I thought of Dave a lot at this time, my grandpa too, both of whom were bee loving, tree hugging Lancastrians, who would sing Ilkly Moore at the drop of a hat and could turn their hands to almost anything. I have no such technicians here but some good friends, Rachel Skene amongst them, she helped me no end to gain the momentum that I needed at that point…I could still make a brilliant project.
So, what to do, I understand now that I then set about my own elephant test.
The term elephant test refers to situations in which an idea or thing "is hard to describe, but instantly recognizable when spotted."
As is so often the case for me, the essence of what I really do is on the tip of my tongue but won’t make the final leap into words. I have to see it.
Fact is, I almost always find that my work has been staring me in the face for so long that I barely even notice it. Working in a centre that is dominated by a museum and local heritage, I am bombarded by images stories and half finished histories every day.
At work and in my studio, my moves are watched by four unlikely creatures who are amongst the many characters populating Timespan’s ever growing archive; a circus elephant, camel and llama. The animals would appear from the pictures to have arrived by carriage in the early 1900s, we can tell by the clothing worn by the fascinated on lookers and the ruined, but still standing, Helmsdale Castle.
The animals would have traveled by road up the west coast, maintaining some sense of the nomadic lifestyle that they would have led in the wild, but in this case, it was the human pursuit of audience and money rather than food and watering holes that directed their movement.
The use of animals in circuses will always be contentious but looking at these exotic creatures in Helmsdale 1900, it is easy to romanticise their existence. Were it not for the fact that we can identify Helmsdale Castle, the camel could indeed be mistaken for resting a while in front of some Eastern fortress in the desert.
I decided that I still wanted to make the nomadic trip across Scotland, calling upon my time-spent wit the youth group in various locations as a guide. We have been to so many beautiful places during the course of our time together and when, the other day, I returned from Arkle with news of the glorious weather and amazing views, my colleague Fiona stated most decidedly, ‘’yes, the North West of Scotland is probably the most beautiful place in the world’’ I know that Fiona wouldn’t say this lightly.
For people who try and travel whenever they can, this is a strong statement to make, we have all become terribly worldly and to say that your own home is the most beautiful would seem lacking in wisdom or objectivity. But I thought about it for a moment, and found myself saying ‘’yes, it probably is….’’ I meant it.
There goes one elephant.
