Video, Writing

A Sense Of Place


The National Gallery of Modern Art in Edinburgh are holding an exhibition at the moment called A Sense Of Place. It focuses on Joan Eardley’s work from two particular locations – Glasgow and the village of Catterline.

It’s an astounding exhibition, featuring items loaned from public and private collections far and wide. The Glasgow pieces, possibly her most famous work, are amazing. Capturing the children of the tenements and the world they inhabit. But it’s the Catterline rooms which stopped me in my tracks.

I lived in Catterline from the age of 8 until I was 18. Those are some important years I spent there. Our house was built in a new street behind the path on the cliffs to the old coastguard watchhouse which used to act as Eardley’s studio (one of three houses in the village she used). I am very, very familiar with the locations, subjects, and weather which Joan painted and the places she captured them from.

To see images of the pier which we used to jump off, the sea stack we used to climb and the cliffs we spent years roaming on large scale canvas taking up entire rooms of the National Gallery is breathtaking. It provoked a lot of powerful emotion and memories for me.

When I got home I tried to parse some of those thoughts and emotions into a poem called – A Sense Of Place, which you can hear in the reading below.

The tagline on the National Galleries website is “Art that inspires”. In this exhibition they certainly achieved that.

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Music, News, Video, Writing

This week I have mostly been…


I’ve thrown myself down a few creative holes recently and had quite a busy week for putting work online in some form or another.

I recently began publishing articles on Medium to try out that platform and give myself another outlet for some writing which I think would be unsuitable to host here. I think I would like this site to become very informal and just be personal reflections rather than anything too serious or professional.

At the end of last week I posted an article there about how I try and maintain self-belief in the face of anxiety, depression and the mental issues which these conditions inflict on me

Then at the weekend I presented my parents with the gift I’d made for them to congratulate them on their ruby wedding anniversary. It’s a drawing of the family tree which they planted the seeds for forty years ago, along with a short poem I wrote for them
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I’m pretty proud of it as someone who is really, really bad at drawing!

After that it was back to music and a project I’m working on throughout 2017 – recording 50 tunes throughout the year in a mix of video and sound recordings. This is an effort to get me learning and writing new music as well as building confidence in myself as a musician again. On Tuesday I posted a video of two tunes played on mandolin – Road to Banff and The Spey In Spate.

Once I’d recorded the mandolin set I left the camera set up and decided to do an impromptu poetry reading. I entered some poems into a major competition towards the end of last year and received confirmation that they’d not made the shortlist this week. Which, while disappointing, does mean they are now free to be entered elsewhere and shared with the world again. One of those poems is Leaving The Woods, which I wrote around the idea of leaving your childhood behind and based on some memories I had of the woods we played in as children.

I also published it via Medium with a bit of background on the poem itself and the stories told within it

Writing

Winter Comes Down


Winter comes down

The calendar says December,
There’s frost on the car
The days are much shorter,
Summer sun seems so far.

Winter colds are approaching,
Sniffles and coughs everywhere,
The shops are all hoaching,
Fairytale of New York fills the air.

Get the tree from the attic,
My wife asks of me,
And we’ll put it up quick,
Before the baby can see.

Well it comes down in it’s box,
And is laid in the room,
Where it sits by the clock,
Ignored in the gloom.

I can’t be bothered I say,
To decorate the tree,
We can do it the next day,
For now leave me be.

I’ve had enough of false cheer,
The noise and the fuss,
Just give me a cold beer,
I don’t get all the rush.

Now Christmas morning has come,
And Santa has been,
Let’s pretend to have fun,
Rushing down to the scene.

Trying to hide it as I open the door,
The smile lights my face,
And I know it’s not Christmas nor
Fun that I fail to embrace.

We gather around in the warmth of our home,
Swapping presents, get hugs and eat ‘till we groan,
It’s the time as a family I love and cherish the most,
As winter comes down and we share Christmas roast.

 

Writing

Seeds Of Ideas


The piece below was written for a competition ran by the National Literacy Trust last year to promote poetry in schools. Sadly I didn’t make the shortlist but I’m happy with the poem and hope some of you like it.

Seeds of Ideas

The line on the page is a seed laid in the soil,
As my eyes rake over the words,
I water the furrowed earth
With thoughts and inspiration,
The seed, planted in compost of grammar,
Tenderly tended with metaphor and simile,
Germinates; sending forth shoots,
Leading to new buds,
Images in my mind flower as words, music, rhythm,
And lines on a page,
Waiting to blow on the breeze and be planted again.

Writing

National Poetry Day – The Same Light


Here’s a piece I’ve written to mark National Poetry Day and this year’s theme of light.

The Same Light

The light of our sun
Travels 93 million miles,
To illuminate our world.

From Damascus to Durham,
The particles bring life,
Lifting the veil of the night,
To let us see beauty
And identify strife.

The same rays of sunshine,
From a single star,
Glint off a camera
On the west highland way,
Reflect off a rifle in Homs,
Or a refugee’s tent near Calais.