Drawing inspiration from the October landscapes of Caithness
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Northern Drift by Monique Sliedrecht
Some people refer to Scotland as "Little Canada" (although there is nothing "little" about Scotland in my view). Scotland has the physical makeup of Canada in condensed form, and the links between both countries are so strong. Maybe that’s why I’ve been drawn to Scotland as my "other home".
It’s Thanksgiving in Canada this weekend. Many families will be getting together to celebrate. My family living in Ontario will meet for a meal and I’ll probably Zoom in at some point!
I wish I could be there in person to see the wonderful colours of the Fall. But lately the north of Scotland has been fairly glowing in-between sudden sweeps of rain, and maybe more so because of the rainfall.
Yesterday, when the sun suddenly appeared, the landscape seemed to be on fire, with sparks of light touching the waves, rocks, grasses and moorland.
The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil…. (Gerard Manley Hopkins)
My insides were near bursting like the full rushing burn.
Such beauty!
The glories of the far north are being newly discovered by many more people these days because of the NC500 route. Saying that, on a recent trip through Sutherland, it was still pretty free of caravans, just revealing bare open hills, some of whose shapes became defined by a light dusting of snow that had fallen the night before.
There is a melancholy in the northern landscape, at this time of year especially – a moodiness that perhaps matches my own feelings in relation to all that is happening in the world. And yet I feel a sense of peace and wellbeing. If there is such beauty like this around us, and if we could only just match our efforts with the rhythms of the seasons at earth’s pace, we’d be okay, wouldn't we?
In the last week or so, I’ve set myself up to the challenge of doing a sketch every day. Usually that is combined with walking somewhere and sketching whatever I find in front of me. I’m getting to know the surrounding stretch of coastline and cliffs more and more as I do this.
These sketches are small and maybe minor things, but they somehow bring a sense of movement forward, alongside the other tasks of the day. We need to count our blessings in these ways too, don't we? However simple. We need to learn how to "see" again.
I just got back from a walk on the beach, caught by a light and misty rainfall. The wetness accentuates the colours of the limpid shells and bits of glass and buoy found on the shore.
This morning, in the sunlit start of this day, I am struck by the glow and wildness of it all, in those colours of russet, orange, red, gold… the umbers, and siennas.
Last night I lit a fire in the fireplace, sitting in the glow of the day’s impressions for a little while longer, in the warmth that it brought to my insides and outsides. Late morning sunrise, early evening hearth — these become the bookends to the autumn days. As Canadian author, LM Montgomery writes: "I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers."
And I’m grateful – for fire, light, for potatoes, for squash and carrot soup, for the colour orange, and sienna, yellow, and ochre... for beach finds, creativity, for the history of hills and mountains, for a roof over my head, for friendship, family…"for the dearest freshness deep down things" (GMH).
Happy Thanksgiving!
- Monique Sliedrecht is an artist and blogger based at Freswick. If you want to follow her daily sketches go to her blog at www.moniquesliedrecht.com
