Wet rocks

I have returned to the calm of home and northern Europe doesn't feel so cold anymore. Spain was wonderful but so unbelievably wet. It is not for nothing that their northern coast is called green. It was a week of learning about the landscape and experiencing the places first hand. I am researching the Basque whalers from approximately 1530 to 1610. Part of the reason for this is that it ties in with my earlier work in Newfoundland. I will be working in Newfoundland and Labrador later this year where the Basque fishermen hunted for whales in this period.

The Basque region is a country that feels enterprising and industrious particularly on the Spanish side. Basque sailors were the first to create factory ships when in the mid 1600s they built whale oil refineries onboard their ships. The same passion for invention extends today and the region around San Sebastian and Bilbao is rich in factories.

Walking from Pasaia to Hondaribba

I was working in Pasaia, a deep natural harbour that was one of the most important whale fishing ports. The narrow entrance to the port between huge vertical sloping rocks meant this port never silted up, unlike some of the neighboring ones. The place is now far sleepier than in its heyday. It has charm, it is an old port hugged by indifferent urban development. Gorgeous 16th century houses are followed by anonymous apartment blocks. There is a strong feeling of being in a living environment, people really work and play here, the old centre hasn't yet been re-created for tourists.

flat earth

Sometimes it is not clear if I am floating on land or water. This country is so amazingly engineered. We knew for sure that we were on water because the land fell away below us. The dykes hold the water back and the ground is below sea level.


This landscape is what I love so much about this place. Totally flat, the horizon is broken by reeds and the sky holds the potential of cloud mountains. Water and earth blend, rich farmland emerges. 20 minutes north of the city and the space of sky dominates. The houses are infinitely smaller in scale and hug the ground, the environment is all water and sky. Being able to see beyond that house, this tree... to have distance and views, urban intimacy gives me cravings for those. 

Zuiderwoude church in the distance

watching spring

The earliest beginnings of spring: the snowdrops are growing straggly and I am watching for the tulips to start pushing their bunched fingers through the warming soil. The days hover between fine, feeding, spring rain and sun. It is planning time in the studio and I am arranging the first research trips for the next part of the North Atlantic project.

This year I am working in Basque Spain and Labrador drawing the remains of the whaling ports left by the Basque in Labrador. They date mostly from the period of 1550-1610 when the Basque industry was at its zenith in this region. I am going first to Northern Spain to see where this began and to visit the forests where the wood for the ships came from.

This project encompasses an understanding of the history of both places to more fully comprehend the present day. It asks more questions than I can fully answer for now: what makes the people of the edges so passionate about our shared Atlantic Ocean, what is the sociological make-up of places like northern-most Spain (both then and now) and as a result what makes these places as they are and how do we all connect? I am in wonder that the small wooden boats used even managed to survive the journey. 

Most of all this is a chance for me to see these rocks for myself. To see huge coastal landscapes under the influences of chaining weather and erosion and to study the rock structures.  To make this possible I am behind the computer writing before venturing out to explore huge skies and rain dreaming.

leaving for holidays

Today I was clearing a path through the snow and watching others go on holiday. Apparently it is too cold for the geese so they are leaving the city and traveling to warmer climes. Swathes of them flew over, I could hear the wing beats and the physical effort it cost them to fly.

Strangely I am enjoying the real winter. This afternoon it was a mere -5 degrees C but with wind and a humidity of 93% it felt cold. Since I can connect to the local weather station I have become obsessed with the subtly changing climate statistics.

frozen canal

Until the canals freeze solidly they are broken up in the middle by an icebreaker to prevent people skating. The layer of snow is really pretty but it prevents the ice layer underneath freezing more thickly, it acts as an insulating blanket. Everything is reduced to muted colours and the light is nuanced as if in a black and white movie. The snow emphasizes ice wrinkles.

moorhen footprints

Small amounts of snow cause havoc here as no one has snow tires, it is just too slippery on the bike. The moorhens and I are on foot.

Clean, new, uncrushed snow changes all the familiar environments. The light turquoise sky shining through the cloud gauze becomes an event. Sounds are muted but people are more chatty and stop to talk to each other. It is too cold for the youth who hang out on the street corner and the neighbourhood has reclaimed its territory.

A little bit of salt...

There are times when I realize how close places are and yet how diverse Europe is. I had the chance to go to the Loire Atlantique. I managed to reach the sea and watched the Northern French Atlantic lip gently over rocks. A suburban car park surrounded by holiday homes led to a path between houses and slipped into the cliffs, exposing the ocean.

Pointe de Castelli

Finally I got to see where the salt comes from. Guérande has huge salt marshes that are drained and the salt is left to dry in the sun before being harvested. What looked like white herons were flying from field to field. It is both industrial and feels rural. Fields of pooled salt water look like sea and are suspended between tiny roads. It felt as if we were on the threads of a fragile earth net floating on becalmed ocean.

salt flats

salt flats

looking towards Le Croisic across salt flats

I have been missing sky, these clear horizons gave me eye space. We drove over the bridge to the airport of Nantes. When engineering imposes on the landscape, it can bring something extra and this brought a "hill" and distant vistas over the edge of the Vendée

The bridge over the Loire to Nantes

walking

Dunes National Park Zuid Kennemerland Noord Holland

It was a moment of breathing, open space is so precious. As we walked, in the far distance the chimneys of the Ijmuiden steel works billowed sky messages, planes sliced over the sky but we could hear the sea. The North Sea beach was crowded with people and happy dogs. Huge queues for the parking machines, many, many people buying chips in the only beach cafe- warm billows of fat frying. Back in the dunes the people dissipated and it felt roomy again.    

The land made me think of the Dutch 19th century painter Anton Mauve. He was very fond of sand hills and sheep all becoming a single entity. There were definitely sheep showing willing to pose for more paintings. The weather is crazily warm for the end of December.  

Sleeping sun lights vapour trails

We made it out of the park before it grew too dark and it returned to ownership of the sheep, horses and highland cattle who live there (to manage the dune landscape by keeping the grasses down).  

FIAC, Paris

Foire Internationale d'Art Contemporain, it was a lovely excuse to go to Paris. I was at Frieze Art Fair last week and this week I went to the FIAC. I had not been before but this year I decided to investigate Paris too. It is a treat to see really high-quality work. The art world is so multi-faceted, this seemed to be a window on wealth and window shoppers: there were those who were buying, those who were looking at them, those who were hoping to be looked at and even some who were there for the art. Sometimes I need to remind myself of the world outside my studio life. If the crowds felt too much or if it felt that some pieces were made primarily for the money then I could look upwards.

FIAC au Grand Palais

The ceiling

There was an upper floor with more galleries. Through a large entrance portal I was led up several flights of concrete stairs that felt more like a back fire escape and then I was through long corridors of small gallery booths, finally descending a staircase that revelled in its ostentation.

The sun was out and the day was so appealling. Waiting in the long queue in the sunned yellow dust surrounding the Grand Palais before the fair and seeing the blue glimpses of sky pouring from glazing made me long for outside. Two art fairs in eight days was quite enough for me. After a couple of hours I left to walk the streets of Paris back to the station and my onward journey. The streets smelt wonderful. Wafts of car fumes remind me of childhood experiences in the city. The big Haussmann designed streets split smaller ones and the light poured through the space while I crossed from deep shadows into further ones.