In the spring of 2018 I started to really consider the development of my art practice. I had an overwhelming urge to explore new materials and consider what I really want to say with my work. So, I began to wind down my commission and exhibition schedule and made a plan to give myself some time.

I took up a sort of residency in my own studio and at locations on the west coast. I allowed myself a period of pressure-free, play and development time. Sketching with watercolour and charcoal, experimenting with acrylics and ink, I began to develop a new language with which to express my thoughts.

At the same time I began to think deeply about how I see and experience the landscape, about my own place within it. I started to walk alone, something I never do. Asking myself questions like: Why do I walk the routes I do? Where do my fears and anxieties dictate or change my path? What sort of feature or circumstance makes me feel more or less comfortable when I’m outdoors?

My reading list over this period has made a significant impact too, books like “Wild” by Cheryl Strayed, “The Last Wilderness” by Neil Ansell and “Wild Signs and Star Paths” by Tristan Gooley have accompanied me on many walks. Through this last book I learned about natural navigation and the technique of handrailing. A handrail is a linear feature, like: the coast, a ridge-line, a row of fence posts, a defined path or a stream which can be easily identified and followed.

When walking with a companion I don’t think about navigation too much, I tend to follow whoever I’m with. However, when walking alone, of course, I’m in control of where I’m going. Considering what my routes look like when I’m alone I realised I was using handrails for navigation purposes but also to combat my unease with being alone. Part of my anxiety around walking alone comes from a fear of getting lost, so I find great comfort and confidence in having a ‘landmark’ in my sights. It suddenly made sense to me that, especially when walking on my own, I always prefer to be near the coast, on a marked path or amongst mountains - they are my handrail, my comfort and companion.

This period of thought and exploration has provided me an abundant source of inspiration for the artwork I’m currently making. Working in a truly expressive and personal way with new materials, these images speak intimately of my connection to, and experience in, the landscape.

Over this year I amassed thousands of words of notes. As I don’t consider myself to be much of a writer, I asked my partner if he would read my notebook and offer some insight into my thoughts and motivations to accompany the abstract images I have made.

He picked up on the pivotal moment in an entry from July 2019 - written in a rented cottage on the southernmost tip of Craignish Peninsula, Argyll - and gifted me the following poem:

She walks

didn’t want to go his way

almost didn’t go anywhere

but into my head

and I can get stuck in there

breakthrough

I can do this alone

just to be, here

should I go further

forgetting my fears

finding the edges

a line in the land

this comfortable silence

a line in the sand

a lone woman walking

and working through stuff

and being, and seeing

and being enough

Sam Kilday, 2019

The distillation of months of thinking, walking, reading, painting, and changing are in those twelve lines after the breakthrough (which could easily have been a break-down). I decided that each of my new works would be titled with a line from Sam’s poem.