My Artist Residency

On Eilean Sionnach, the Island of the Fox, by the Isle of Skye



To the Lighthouse

For over twenty years now, I have looked from the gallery in Isle Ornsay at the lighthouse on Eilean Sionnach, sitting proud, in the distance Knoydart beyond.

It is a small island, reached at low tide by foot from its sister island, Isle Ornsay. 

When I was asked to do an artist’s residency there, I was thrilled to bits.

What an opportunity, to escape to my own island to just paint and be.

It sounded idyllic. 

My partner Richard , Islay the dog and I, arrived at the pier in Isle Ornsay, with all our provisions for the coming week and a big pack of paper, boards and art materials. 

We met Gus, the skipper, who took us by boat around Isle Ornsay where we met the waves in the Sound of Sleat. In full waterproof gear, it was a thrilling experience, waves spraying over our heads. In the distance the lighthouse stood proud, on the little Eilean Sionnach,

At the wee slip, we unloaded our bags into a wheelbarrow and made several trips up to the lighthouse cottage to settle in for our stay. 

Now to explore this enchanting island.  

Here are some rambling thoughts that passed through my mind while working and some photos of the work I made out in the elements…..

Thrilling to be out in the elements. 

What I see before me fills my heart with such excitement 

the shifts of light, clearing, obscuring, 

flat darks, then shapes appear with beams of light.

To the west 

blue skies with buttresses of billowing white clouds,

slowly turning full circle,

the blue obscured by purples,

grey clouds heavy with showers

obliterating the land momentarily. 

Sweeping in and onward,

a tiny sail boat lit up against it 

battling on through.

A horizontal slither of the brightest silver 

against a gunmetal grey sea.

The coruscating  dance of silver sparkles, 

mesmerises me.

The painting process is constantly looking, the vista constantly changing, 

conveying how that feeling sweeps you away.

It's the process that is fulfilling, the result seems less important in this moment in time.

Looking, squinting into the sun, reacting to the ever changing scene before me,

hanging onto my board, each mark made,

nudged by the gusts.

Gleaming, blinding light on water 

behind

black sharp jagged rocks. 

Silhouetted.

Lichen, patches of gold, 

like maps of counties.

Spots of rain, appearing on my paper, signal the next front approaching,

cover my paper from the shower, 

to sit it out. 

Take a breather.

Grateful for my waterproofs. 

The wind making sure nothing hangs about for long

and so to continue, dare I stand back to look,

easel wobbling,

drawing board rocking back and forth.

I’m taken in by the magic, completely engrossed

until eventually a pang in my stomach says I need to eat. 

Weak.

Tired.

Happy.

I humph all my paraphernalia back to the comfort of the cottage

Slipping on seaweed, tripping over rocks.

Spotting an oyster catcher flickering on the wing.

Buffeted, blown up the grassy path,

to escape the wind within the stone fortress of the cottage.

No wind, not even its sound penetrates those thick walls.

Protected.

Excited to get back out again, 

attempt to capture that raw beauty.

A similar view, getting familiar now,

but set in a different time,

different light,

different mood,

different tide.

The gurgle of the sea as the incoming tide lifts it up the shore , 

encircling the pebbles,

blip,

till they submerge.

The seaweed begins its tidal sway.

Better move back up the shore,

time to stop for the day.

Link to the Lighthouse