Changing lines
Why sometimes it pays to begin again.
After snow melt or rain heavy I imagine I can hear the moss s i g h
Greetings to you all, and a warm welcome if this is your first letter from me.
It may be Spring in Northeast Scotland but as I began writing this on Monday afternoon fat flakes of snow were falling. It had tried briefly at breakfast, blobs of white reflected in the magnifying glass of the table, before settling into a grey day of never quite stopping precipitation. I should have gone for a walk but instead I opted to stay dry. The oystercatchers perched on the ridge of the house opposite; they didn’t seem impressed either.
In part it’s the cold damp that engenders inertia, but I think my mojo has taken a vacation. There’s the inevitable dip after an intense period of activity. There has been little magical light, frost or ice recently to deflect from an increasingly muddy and messy place - this winter has been, for the east coast, unusually wet. Only the lilac is bent on breaking bud. Most other things are, like me, biding time.
One day on we wake to a covering, too bright for the eyes. Green soon returns, with a little blue, but I stand in the wood with an umbrella watching something between snow and sleet; the deer for once are absent. I realise that I’m missing vibrancy so look for colour in the water again filling the mossy pools. The far hills remain pale.
Sometimes when we get on a bus, we end up somewhere unexpected. And even when we choose one destination we may decide to swap routes, even if it means beginning again. It would be easy to pretend that ‘A New Topography’ was planned, but that was far from the case. In advance I wondered how my recent workshop might grow my writing; I thought perhaps I could begin to integrate the words with the visual, but in a 1-to-1 it became clear that the best use of the time would be to just write while I had the opportunity for feedback.
It’s not exactly Helsinki - this time I didn’t stay on the same bus; I got off, walked back and settled on a new route. There wasn’t anything wrong with the first, I just realised that I was trying to write, consciously, when the melody develops better if I simply open my heart and mind and wait until words are ready to flow. It is these thoughts, evocations and reactions to nature and place that make up the language of the book. It is the first time that I have put something together where the writing leads, and the images are simply chosen to illustrate the feeling.
We can send words around the world in an instant but there is still something nice about the physicality of writing, of using a fountain pen, of putting it on a page or reproducing it in a book, and of that paper then undertaking a journey. Thank you for being part of that. It’s good to see that the early orders for ‘A New Topography’ have now been delivered in North America; the Australian postal service was super-efficient. I’m especially grateful to those of you who have shared your reaction on receiving a copy of my book, and agreed to let me share those words on my website. The edition is selling well, and limited to 50 copies, so if you would like one don’t wait too long.
Ahead of a holiday weekend for some of you, I will share three things that you may enjoy.
Visual Art. Some of you will know that I have a bit of a thing for asemic writing and handmade artists’ books. I’ve recently come across the work of artist Chris Ruston who combines the two beautifully.
Listening. Each weekend Scotland Outdoors keeps me company on the radio or as a podcast; it describes itself as a topical guide to life in the Scottish outdoors. I split my listening between Saturday and Sunday mornings in place of the news.
Reading. Having sent out a good number of my own books, I have chosen to buy some including one that has been on my list since I first came across his writing late last year:
’ Two Lights: Walking Through Landscapes of Loss and Life. James’ Substack publication Into the Deep Woods is one that I recommend.
Thank you for joining me and for reading this; I hope that you have a wonderful weekend. Until next week,
You’ll find more image rich writing in previous posts on FLOW’s home page. My photography and mixed media art live here on my website.
exquisite poem. Thank you.
What a poem! I imagine that too, for sure.