“In art we feel our way towards each other in the dark and try to speak of what matters. To work towards this amidst the mess and sadness and fragile joy of this world isn’t heedlessness. It is a small act of making to counter all the unmaking.” Yes yes yes. 🙏
I was entranced and transported by this. Deep thanks for such a wonderful evocation of place -a painter's view, beautiful, evocative writing. And a focus gradually widening to our existence on the planet. .Masterly, I'm in awe.
Thank you Pauline, written as a big Westerly barrels in on us from the Atlantic, making a rumble in the chimney like the biggest pipe a a church organ.
I've tried four or five times to express my admiration and enjoyment of this thoughtful, wise and compassionate piece of writing. Then I stop and just settle into the beauty of it.
I so share your appreciation of time, and your anxiety of what might be, and your observations of sitting with creativity, and all of it. Thank you Samantha, that was just brilliant.
Wow. This piece allowed me to let out the breath I feel like I’ve been holding for weeks. It was just the tonic I required this morning. Reposted by Josie George is how I came to see it. Thank you, I bow deeply!
Thank you Paul. Tonight the gale is booming in from the west and is forecast to brawl all night till it blows itself out. Fortunately I don’t have anywhere to go this evening, and the stove is lit and cosy.
Soulful, thoughtful, thought provoking writing and glorious art. You describe your winter so that I feel the chill and draught under the door, hear the rattle of the wind against the window, and want to snug up next to the fire for comfort.
Beautiful, Sam. This one really touched me today. You transported me back to Orkney in winter, which made me more than a little sad that I won't be coming this January. The past two years, I've been up for our Winter School and fallen utterly in love with the place. It must be tough being there the whole winter - a week is easy! - but at least you are compensated with the beauty, which i won't call 'breathtaking' because it's almost the opposite, I find. It's like it fills me with breath, an inner peace. I hope you find some of that, too, and I will try to stay papatient with myself and my art.
Yes, that sense of taking in a big, cleansing breath of cold air, this big sky all coming at you. A respite this morning after a wild evening/night and before the next gale blows in later today - what Orcadians call “a day between weathers”. I’m sure you’ll be back for more of it. Look me up if you do!
So many warm thoughts and memories of you. I recall not long after I began reading your posts your vivid description of winds shrieking and screaming (my words) around this time of year. Under windows and doors of your dwelling, of course, but also through unidentifiable fissures in walls? Floors? Panes of glass in the sashes? When you ordered the giant roll of aluminium you joked about its possible use to re-skin your cottage, to fend off winter winds, if your plans for use as sizable canvasses didn’t pan out.
Your descriptions today of time, how you plan your work (step out into what you are seeing/feeling and begin), and most importantly to me your engagement with the aging process. “Honest” was the word that came to my mind. I read a post by an American photographer on SubStack yesterday in which he described how very tiny Chickadees contend with winter. They sit dead still all night, body temperatures plummeting. On awakening, their first act is vigorous flapping of their wings which shortly restores a normal body temperature! An amazing adaptation to bitter winters. Last, I thought of noise cancelling headphones to counter the wind while at work in your studio. Something tells me that would be a mismatch with Nature dominant. All the best, Sam, today, during the Holidays, and going forward into January and with the exhibition of your gentle giants. All four.
Oh thank you so much for sharing that story about the Chickadees! How incredible that such tiny creatures can survive the elements by changing themselves to fit the situation, not the other way around, as we humans do. I’m often impressed by the patient stoicism of my little hens in winter, but that chickadee is a whole other level of tough!
My problem with this essay is I find myself so moved by every word and line and image that I am rendered literally speechless. A rare condition for me! And so I will simply try to reciprocate with my own meditations on this thing we call "time" that you capture so well:
I bouught one of your prints a few years ago - a beautifully observed cormorant. I love it so much! I think I found your work over on Insta. So glad to refind you here too!
Oh my goodness, I am thrilled. I didn't make the connection and remember it going to Orkney and wished I could go with it! What a happy coincidence, you have made my day.
That piece, especially your reflections on time, touched me deeply and I was transported from my bed in Bristol to Orkney. I will listen again. Thank you!
“In art we feel our way towards each other in the dark and try to speak of what matters. To work towards this amidst the mess and sadness and fragile joy of this world isn’t heedlessness. It is a small act of making to counter all the unmaking.” Yes yes yes. 🙏
I was entranced and transported by this. Deep thanks for such a wonderful evocation of place -a painter's view, beautiful, evocative writing. And a focus gradually widening to our existence on the planet. .Masterly, I'm in awe.
Thank you Pauline, written as a big Westerly barrels in on us from the Atlantic, making a rumble in the chimney like the biggest pipe a a church organ.
i hear it, Samantha.
I've tried four or five times to express my admiration and enjoyment of this thoughtful, wise and compassionate piece of writing. Then I stop and just settle into the beauty of it.
I so share your appreciation of time, and your anxiety of what might be, and your observations of sitting with creativity, and all of it. Thank you Samantha, that was just brilliant.
Thank you so much, Jonathan. It means the world to hear this.
Wow. This piece allowed me to let out the breath I feel like I’ve been holding for weeks. It was just the tonic I required this morning. Reposted by Josie George is how I came to see it. Thank you, I bow deeply!
Thank you Heather, and honoured to follow Josie’s footsteps into your Notes feed. It means so much to hear this. Go well.
Thank you! Keep warm!!
🩵
This is so moving and beautifully written! I feel as if I am there with you.
Thank you Paul. Tonight the gale is booming in from the west and is forecast to brawl all night till it blows itself out. Fortunately I don’t have anywhere to go this evening, and the stove is lit and cosy.
Stoking the fire and getting cozy sounds like a good plan!
Soulful, thoughtful, thought provoking writing and glorious art. You describe your winter so that I feel the chill and draught under the door, hear the rattle of the wind against the window, and want to snug up next to the fire for comfort.
Beautiful. Thank you.
I’m so glad you enjoyed reading, Caro, thank you!
Beautiful words and images, Samantha.
Thank you Holly, so glad you enjoyed reading The Life Boat!
Yep. Good stuff. 👏
Thank you John! Much appreciated.
Your writing expresses things about my life that I can’t always express - thank you!
You are so very welcome Tamsin - lovely to connect with you on here.
Beautiful, Sam. This one really touched me today. You transported me back to Orkney in winter, which made me more than a little sad that I won't be coming this January. The past two years, I've been up for our Winter School and fallen utterly in love with the place. It must be tough being there the whole winter - a week is easy! - but at least you are compensated with the beauty, which i won't call 'breathtaking' because it's almost the opposite, I find. It's like it fills me with breath, an inner peace. I hope you find some of that, too, and I will try to stay papatient with myself and my art.
Yes, that sense of taking in a big, cleansing breath of cold air, this big sky all coming at you. A respite this morning after a wild evening/night and before the next gale blows in later today - what Orcadians call “a day between weathers”. I’m sure you’ll be back for more of it. Look me up if you do!
So many warm thoughts and memories of you. I recall not long after I began reading your posts your vivid description of winds shrieking and screaming (my words) around this time of year. Under windows and doors of your dwelling, of course, but also through unidentifiable fissures in walls? Floors? Panes of glass in the sashes? When you ordered the giant roll of aluminium you joked about its possible use to re-skin your cottage, to fend off winter winds, if your plans for use as sizable canvasses didn’t pan out.
Your descriptions today of time, how you plan your work (step out into what you are seeing/feeling and begin), and most importantly to me your engagement with the aging process. “Honest” was the word that came to my mind. I read a post by an American photographer on SubStack yesterday in which he described how very tiny Chickadees contend with winter. They sit dead still all night, body temperatures plummeting. On awakening, their first act is vigorous flapping of their wings which shortly restores a normal body temperature! An amazing adaptation to bitter winters. Last, I thought of noise cancelling headphones to counter the wind while at work in your studio. Something tells me that would be a mismatch with Nature dominant. All the best, Sam, today, during the Holidays, and going forward into January and with the exhibition of your gentle giants. All four.
Oh thank you so much for sharing that story about the Chickadees! How incredible that such tiny creatures can survive the elements by changing themselves to fit the situation, not the other way around, as we humans do. I’m often impressed by the patient stoicism of my little hens in winter, but that chickadee is a whole other level of tough!
So small and seemingly fragile was how I have always viewed Chickadees. How very mistaken I was.
My problem with this essay is I find myself so moved by every word and line and image that I am rendered literally speechless. A rare condition for me! And so I will simply try to reciprocate with my own meditations on this thing we call "time" that you capture so well:
https://bairdbrightman.substack.com/p/time
Thank you so much for this Baird - I’m looking forward to reading this!
Those last paragraphs I shall keep as a reminder of what matters in making art. A beautiful piece.
Thank you Deborah. Go well, into that creative unknowing.
I am so pleased to discover your work here, I find it so helpful and uplifting.
I bouught one of your prints a few years ago - a beautifully observed cormorant. I love it so much! I think I found your work over on Insta. So glad to refind you here too!
Oh my goodness, I am thrilled. I didn't make the connection and remember it going to Orkney and wished I could go with it! What a happy coincidence, you have made my day.
That piece, especially your reflections on time, touched me deeply and I was transported from my bed in Bristol to Orkney. I will listen again. Thank you!
Thank you Eileen! stay cosy under those covers!
So beautifully and generously observed. Thank you.
Thank you Heidi, I’m so glad to hear this resonated for you. Go well.