Connections

I am Dougal from Father Ted. A slightly smarter version in that I understand that the toy cow in my hand is small and the cows that appear to be the same size in the field away in the distance, are actually big. However, how to get that on paper, no matter how hard I look, just doesn’t square up for me. If a crow flies overhead (they do a lot of that at graveyards,) I paint it on and it’s the size of an albatross - or a Dementor. So I have to paint it out and give up on that particular slant on atmosphere. I understand that the gravestone closest to me will be bigger. But the one further away is in actual fact a lot bigger than the one closest to me so what do I do with that. I just can’t see it. The artists job is to select what goes on the paper and what gets left off. In the end, I resorted to finger painting as a way out….

My drawing skills were greatly improved by a spot of sleet. Unfortunately I had to mop some of the paint and ink up or it would all have run off the paper, and then I laboured over it once I got home.

Dog not happy. I’d forgotten to take his luxury mat that Marion made for ME.

For years, Granny talked about us all going up to Cille Choirill with the children and a picnic, to fix up the headstone and tidy up around it. Now the ‘children’ live in Ireland and Canada, and the cousins live in Glasgow, and the headstone is still squint and is the only one with weeds sticking up through the snow. The names are of the Kennedy’s and descendents. Great Great Granny Jessie Kennedy and Great Great Papa Donald, Great Granny McAllan, and her brothers, and Great Papa McAllan. 2 of these boys didn’t make it home from the First World War and one of them did, but ultimately didn’t recover, and took his own life. My children are connected to this place through their bloodline, and I get to be connected through them, thanks to my husband and Granny Munro.

There is no family graveyard in my immediate history, though Ayrshire does hold some of my McCosh relatives safely in it’s rich soil. My Pollock history lies in the land that I pass by on my way to visit my daughter in Ireland. It is reflected back at me as I drive past Symington and see Ailsa Craig ahead, and on the left, through the image that I lived with on paper for over 50 years.

This is my mothers drawing that she did from the view from our farm. After my dad died and we left Ayrshire, this picture stayed pinned on this board from then in 1969, until now. It sat on her easel permanently and now it lives in my house on the same board. The pins are rusted in and it would tear if I tried to remove it. Underneath are 3 sheets of paper with things on them but I have no idea what. This could be our Headstone.

This will be my dad, ploughing the field.

This is the farm where the collie dog lived that used to come over and visit us. I thought it was a wolf and would run screaming into the house to hide. I was an overdramatic and annoying child.

The Barnweil Monument, or lesser known Wallace’s Monument, in memory of William Wallace. The skyline view that used to represent home for the first 5 years of my life. I always look when I drive by.

This connection to Ayrshire is so deeply held and important.

Gathering ideas for when I eventually try to make a painting. The weeds will be going in.

Earlier in the week, I created and fussed over a made up painting from Mucomir with the wee church making an appearance. My sketchbook that went missing at Mucomir, was delivered back to me and the two Cille Choirhill sketchs were made on it’s buckled pages to celebrate it’s return. Id met Roddy Moy in his truck on the road and asked him if he’d seen it. He’d said no, but that people in Mucomir were talking about a potential Banksy that had appeared. The farmer has a sense of humour. I’d asked him to ask around. He didn’t look as if he was going to put a lot of effort into it. About 5 days later I was chatting with Carrie of the Barge when I remembered she lived at Mucomir and asked her if she’d seen a sketchpad lying around. And she HAD!! Sitting on the graveyard wall with it’s one sketch facing skywards, as if waiting for someone to collect. Unfortunately we were chatting amidst deep snow, so it was going to be buried by now, unless someone had picked it up. But she sent me a video of her digging it out and delivered it back just under a week after it had gone missing. I’m ridiculously happy to have it returned - I didn’t like to think of it rotting in a ditch.

Back home from Cille Choirhill, cold and wet, I was about to take off my boots. I had another Dougal type moment, when I realised I was wearing mismatched boots. I don’t know if he ever did this, but I think he probably would. Spook scratched his head and asked how anyone could do this without noticing. Well I did notice - but only after the event. I’m not totally stupid.