THE "HARVEST HOPE"

My family moved to Sandwick, in Shetland's south Mainland, from Baltasound in the north isles, around Christmas-time in 1954, when I was 6 years old.  Our nearest neighbour was George John Stove, one of the crewmen on the "Harvest Hope", depicted above.  The painting was commissioned by Colin, the son of George John, and my earliest memories of life in the new parish were what seemed to be endless sunny days of  fun with Colin and the other children of the district.  Colin is now an eminent physicist, his particular area of expertise being the use of sonar in geological exploration, and he was part of the hanging party which helped with the setting up of my recent exhibition in the Creel Inn, Catterline (of which more later).

The "Harvest Hope" was built in 1949 by Stephens of Banff for Alex and Robert Duthie of Lerwick.  She was 57ft long and 27 tons gross and net.  She is pictured approaching the north mouth of Lerwick harbour in strong north-westerly winds, with the Green Holm and the Brethren skerries to port in the background.

WOOF!

Now and then I get a different kind of project to work on, and this is one of these.  At various stages of a long, varied (and mostly mis-spent!) career, I've done cats, dogs, horses (for the window of Lerwick bookies'), children and even the odd reclining female nude human figure.  Being an artist, one is expected to take on whatever genre prospective patrons might shove one's way, and be grateful for their confidence and the challenge to one's skills.  It makes a change from the usual seascape and landscape themes, for which I'm better known.  Hence the portrait of the brown labrador dog shown above, commissioned by a customer in the Aberdeen area.

I copied it fairly slavishly from the little snapshot given me by the client, as my knowledge of the anatomy and bearing of dogs is limited.  I don't even like the brutes - I've stood once too often in their produce, deposited, as it normally is, on street corners and outside peoples' gates.  I would not care to encounter, on a dark night, the hound of hell which regularly drops its considerable bundle outside the Burgh Road gate of the Gilbertson Park here in Lerwick.  I would, however, very much like to identify its owner, as the mutt is in flagrante delicto, so to speak.  The satisfaction I would derive from his/her wallet depletion, on having his/her collar felt by the authorities, would be immense.

Someone offered me a dog once - probably in the pub, which is the place where I've had most of my interesting offers.  I replied that I was more than capable of doing all my own fouling, howling, slavering and whining, as most of my friends will testify.  The offerer seemed somewhat put out by this reply, although as to which part of it perplexed her, I'm not absolutely certain.

I can get quite curmudgeonly about dog owners, who confuse slavish obedience with intelligence in their pets.  They'll demonstrate how "clever" their shitsus are, as they artlessly respond to commands to roll over, do somersaults, jump over obstacles or whatever the whim of the dictatorial poochmaster might be.

Give me a haughty, supercilious and indifferent pussy-cat any day.  You can shout, point, whistle and gesticulate at a cat all you like, and it will merely regard you coolly, as if you have gone completely mad, give a disdainful tail-flick and carry on with whatever it was doing before it was so rudely interrupted.  Now that's intelligence - coupled with style - for you!

I wish all you cool cats (and your pets!) a happy and successful week.

THE TEMPEST

A happy new year!  If I made a resolution (which I haven't for at least a decade - they're a waste of time for weak-willed people like me!) it should have been to post more regularly to this blog.  I'll do my best, but my good intentions are too often thwarted by events happening around me.

While most of Britain was mopping up and compiling statistics for insurance claims after the new year storms, Shetland was basking in a relatively quiet spell of weather, with winds not reaching much more than gale force.  We, in the Northern Isles, took our pounding on Christmas Day, and we had it more or less all to ourselves.  From the Met office figures for the day, I gathered that there had been a mean wind speed of over 60mph from 2pm until 7pm, with gusts in excess of 90mph in Lerwick, and over 100mph in other locations in the islands.

We had our usual gathering at my mother's house, where her son, daughter, grand-daughter, grandson-in-law and two great-grandchildren (excellent entertainment, as always!) had assembled to attempt a demolition job, in true traditional style, on a turkey and trimmings, followed by sticky toffee pudding.  Fortunately, the cooking had been done, and we were in the process of washing up, before problems with the mains electricity supply began to manifest themselves.  Most of the west side of the island was plunged into darkness at around 5 o'clock.

By this time, we'd had the foresight to get the gas heater going in the kitchen, as the oil-fired central heating system (which is becoming rather elderly) had lost its pilot ignition due to the high winds.  Most of the other family members had left to get home around 4pm, leaving me with mother.  I found candles and an oil lamp, which provided enough light to guide us from room to room.  Just as I was about to see if I could get the gas ring in the scullery going to make us a cuppa, the mains power came back on long enough for me to get a pot of tea "trackit" on the electric cooker.  Then off went the power again!  It came on again at about 8pm, and this time it stayed on.  By then the wind had moderated to a mere storm force, and it abated quite rapidly from then on.  Around 9pm, I was able to coax the central heating back on to stay. 

My sister Mary, whose power was still off at Strand, Tingwall, came back to give me a lift back to Lerwick, as she had friends she wanted to visit there.  Coming over the top of Wormadale, it was rather eerie to see the areas, which still had mains power, glowing brightly, while other places were intensely blacked out.  We came upon a "Hydro" landrover, orange lights flashing, moving slowly down the hill, very close to the verge, obviously using detection equipment to locate mains ruptures.

It was a different kind of Christmas Day from the previous two (both white!), and I was glad I'd been there to help out at mother's.  I had a look around the place in quieter weather last Friday and, as far as I can make out, there was no structural damage, which surprised me a little, as a lesser storm, a few weeks ago, had caused quite a bit of minor mayhem.  All in all, I think I prefer the fierce winds to the snow of the 2009 and 2010 yuletides - the white stuff causes more problems in getting around.  The heroic "hydro" workers, who were spending their holiday out in the tempest, repairing faults, might not agree!

STEAM DRIFTER "STEPHENS" FROM INVERALLOCHY

This painting was commissioned by the great-grandson of the owner of the steam drifter "Stephens".  She is depicted leaving Fraserburgh harbour on a summer's evening, for another night's drift-net fishing for herring, during the boom years of this fishery in the 1930s.

At 87 feet in length, the steel-built vessel was built in 1911 by A Hall & Co., Aberdeen, as the Inverness-registered "Vale o' Moray".  A long and varied career followed, which saw her requisitioned for Admiralty service in two world wars, as well as having at least six different owners and three changes of name in "civilian" life, finally being scrapped in Norway in 1955.  The painting shows her in mid-career, when she was registered in Inverallochy.

WINTER BLUES

It's hard to explain, to you faithful few followers of this blog, why I haven't posted to it in a month.  I suppose the reason is that I had nothing I wanted to tell anyone about.  How can I explain how I feel, after all the elation and hopeful anticipation of a month ago, about the fact that not a single painting has been sold from the Catterline exhibition?  It's difficult to satisfactorily explain, even to myself, how, after eighteen months of producing my best work, and about £2000 of expenditure, my paintings have attracted not a single buyer at a venue where I sold nearly half of the artworks just four years ago.  I can't really explain it, but its's a fact I have to accept, get used to, live with and get over.


That fact, coupled with the seasonal lack of daylight hours to work with, means that my output is at almost as low a level as my general morale, and it's difficult to write creatively in my current situation too.  On several occasions during the past four weeks, I have sat down with a blank sheet of paper in front of me, waiting in vain for the clouds to lift and reveal the welcome apparition of some kindly muse to inspire a decent piece of prose.  The page remained obstinately blank.


A wintry gloom has thus descended over the Tait Gallery, and I've been doing my best to fight it.  I have a full order book, and the first of these commissions, of the motor boat Njördr, is shown above.  The second, of a steam drifter leaving Fraserburgh harbour, is nearing completion, and there are two or three more in the pipeline.  I just wish there were more hours of daylight to help speed up the process, but that, along with the weather, which has been quite fierce at times lately, is something else I just have to live with.


Domestic duties have been major consumers of time, of course, and my mother is giving me the usual anxious moments.  At 95, she's getting a bit worn out, and won't be able to stay on her own much longer.  Strange how we've never really thought of her as old until this last year or so!  Her home, at Whiteness, has withstood all of the winter storms so far, although the front gate has suffered quite a bit of damage, and I found the glass pane from one of the lean-to greenhouse skylights lying, apparently intact, on the floor.  This has happened very recently, and the resultant hole has been boarded up to await a more permanent repair in the new year.  Bits of the ornamental garden blockwork, carried out over many creative hours by my late father in the 1970s and 1980s, have been falling off, and I found what would have made a substantial potful of rabbit stew (had I been as good a shot with a two-two as my late brother-in-law Rob) playing chase-me-catch-me around the borders, which have been woefully neglected over the past few years anyway.  As soon as I appeared in the garden, the bunnies bolted over or through the ramshackle drystone dykes and under gates, only to return, no doubt, within an hour of my departure.  I found myself missing my beloved old grey cat - no rabbit dared come near the garden when she was around!


I held the last of my four pre-Christmas Saturday stalls at the Toll Clock centre yesterday, and I sold a few items as usual, although my takings were down on the previous three Saturdays.  The fact that there's always been a few quid heading bankwards over the last month has taken the sting out of the complete financial failure of the Catterline exhibition so far.


It's back to the easel tomorrow for me, hopefully to complete the Fraserburgh painting by Friday, when I head for Whiteness to do my duty as kitchen flunkie for the Christmas dinner at mother's.  My sister has promised me some sticky toffee pudding for afters - now that'll be worth doing a bit of hard labour for!  Have a happy and peacerful Christmas!

CATTERLINE HANGING PARTY AND REUNION!

The last time I hung an exhibition in the Creel Inn at Catterline, it was in the new year of 2008.  I held out no high hopes for sales success, as this was the "graveyard shift", a term I use to describe that time of year when people's spare cash balance is at its lowest after the festive season.  Nevertheless the event sold well, and I was anxious to see how another show at the back end of a year would fare (although we are now in an economic recession).  In 2011 I received my opportunity to do just that, and this year's display was duly hung last Monday (7th November).  I await developments with eagerly bated breath.

One thing that was certainly different this year was the hanging party.  In 2008 this consisted of my nephew Kenneth Halcrow and myself, and I am glad that he was there again this year to lend his considerable skills and enthusiasm to the process.  But this time, some of my childhood friends had decided to make a reunion of it too!

Back in the 1960s, I stayed in the Shetland community of Sandwick, and I travelled daily to and from the Anderson Educational Institute (now the Anderson High) in Lerwick, on the school bus, accompanied by Colin Stove, Robin Barclay and Kenny Bull, who all lived in the same part of the same parish as I did.  Now renowned in their chosen professional fields of physics, haematology and architecture, all married with grown-up families and on the point of retirement, they had decided to combine a reunion with making up a hanging party for my exhibition at the Creel Inn.  I'm very glad they did.  Along with my sister, who had provided the transport for the artworks from Shetland, and her friend Joe Irvine, we all took up residence at the Ship Inn, Stonehaven, last Sunday afternoon.  The weather was unbelievably fine for early November, and there followed two evenings and an intervening day that I won't forget - ever.

The evenings were largely of reminiscence of the Shetland of half-a-century ago, over drinks and meals at the Ship Inn.  Just before 9 o'clock on Monday morning, I mustered the troops and off we set, in a little convoy of cars, to Catterline, to find that my nephew had arrived from Aberdeen before us.  Two of the paintings had been slightly damaged, one in transit and the other during the framing process, but hasty repairs were made to one and an arrangement made about repairs to the other (for which I will shoulder the repair and delivery costs, should anyone wish to buy it).  The hanging process was finished by midday, and we all gravitated down to the area around the tiny harbour to enjoy the sights and sounds of this spectacular scene on a beautiful day, before meeting up again at the Salutation Hotel at Inverbervie for some lunch.

In the afternoon, we went our separate ways.  Mary and Joe took the most energetic option of a walk from our Stonehaven hotel to Dunnottar Castle.  Robin Barclay and I took a trip down to Tod Head lighthouse in his 4x4 - I'd always fancied going there (what is it about lighthouses that seems to draw people towards them?).  My nephew Kenneth went back to Aberdeen, while Colin and Kenny had other work to attend to.  We all met up at the Ship Inn again in the evening for more laughter and libation, although this was no wild drinking party.  It was all a bit reminiscent of "Last of the Summer Wine" (who of us fits which of Roy Clarke's characters I'll leave to your speculation!).

The next morning, the weather had changed from brilliant sunshine to dull, damp and windy, which it remained for the rest of my mainland excursion.  My plans had had to be changed as, unbeknown to me, the Creel Inn is now closed to business on Mondays and Tuesdays during the winter, with effect from this year.  This meant that I could no longer meet anyone there on Tuesday, either press or public, and I suddenly found myself with nothing to do that day.  With the rest of the party having gone that morning after breakfast, either home or to attend to business elsewhere, Mary and I took a run over to Banchory, which has changed beyond recognition in the forty years or so since I was there last.  It is a massive private housing estate now, and the old town centre was unapproachable that day due to roadworks.   We found a big garden centre on the edge of town, and had a plate of cock-a-leekie soup and a roll in the cafeteria there, before heading back to drop me at Stonehaven, as Mary had to catch the boat back to Shetland that night.

So there I was, on my own, in a grey, damp and miserable-looking Stonehaven.  I popped over to the Marine Hotel to give them a couple of posters, and had a pint of amber nectar while I was there - it would have been frightfully bad manners to come out without buying anything!  My brother and nephew joined me for a couple of beers in the evening, back at the Ship Inn.  The fun and sunshine of the previous day were now mere memories, but who knows what significance I'll attach to them over the coming years?  I already know that days like Monday 7th November 2011 don't come by that often.  Treasure the memory, Jim!

On Wednesday, feeling slightly hung over, I checked out of the Ship Inn and took a taxi down to Catterline for the only "opening hours" of the exhibition which I will be able to be present for.  The weather was cloudy, chilly and windy, and only one family trurned up for lunch that day.  Then Joe Irvine, who had been visiting his son in Oban, picked me up from the Creel Inn and drove me up to Aberdeen, where the boat back to Lerwick and home awaited me.  My trip had ended in something of an anti-climax, but the exhibition has been left, like a stake-net, to attract (and hopefully entrap) buyers over the next two months.  I won't know the extent of the harvest until after Christmas.

In the meantime, I have a full order book to attend to.....

THE LION, THE SWAN AND THE GIFT OF YOUTH

The title of this post might sound a bit C S Lewis-ish, but it stems from a rough English translation of the names of the three ships featured in this week's featured painting.  This is the last of the new works I've managed to complete for this year's Catterline exhibition (I hope it's completed!).  I still have a bit to do on tarting up one of my old tall ship paintings, and I hope to get this done tomorrow.  If I don't manage it, this one will probably not be making the journey south, as I would like to get a new frame on it for the occasion, and it'll have to dry before going to the framer.

My able assistant-cum-driver and I will be hitting the high seas next Saturday evening, and I hope the seas are not high enough to cause similar problems to those encountered by the ferries earlier this past week.

The ships featured in the painting above are, on the left, the Dutch topsail schooner "Wylde Swan", the 3-masted Dutch topsail schooner "Gulden Leeuw" (Golden Lion) on the right, and, in between, the Polish full-rigger "Dar Mlodziezy" (Gift of Youth") receding into the gloom which attended the departure of these ships from Lerwick in late July.

Dutch ships dominated the 'A' class of vessels in this year's Tall Ships Race, and the "Wylde Swan" was  one of the most interesting of these.  She is owned by the same organisation which brought the brigantine "Swan van Makkum" to these islands for the 1999 event, and subsequently sold that vessel to Italian owners.  The "new" boat was actually built as a steamship in Germany in 1920, and she has also operated under the Norwegian flag, before being acquired by her present owners, who have converted her into the impressive two-masted topsail schooner which graced Lerwick harbour in July.

Equally interesting, and also originally a steamship, is the "Gulden Leeuw", which was built as the Danish oceanographic research ship "Dana" in 1937.  I remember admiring the sleek lines of this grey-painted ship when she called at Lerwick in this capacity during the 1960s.  However, I would never then have dreamt of seeing her return in 2011, rigged as a three-masted topsail schooner, with a fully-square-rigged foremast.

This will probably be my last post before my trip to the mainland.  My thanks must go to Cecil Hughson, who has been framing all the paintings, and to my sister Mary, who has the onerous duty of transporting them and me safely to the Creel Inn, Catterline, for next Monday's hanging.  Thanks to these old friends who have volunteered to help with the hanging of paintings and distribution of posters.  Finally, thanks to all those who have emailed me their good wishes - it is very much appreciated, I assure you.

Have a great fortnight!