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I'm currently sitting in a very clean studio space, waiting for my ride to the airport. Everything's packed up and I'll be flying off to Aberdeen in about two hours. Tomorrow morning I'll take a couple of flights and arrive in Helsinki for the last and longest chunk of this whole long-winded odyssey.

Thinking back, it feels odd that two months have passed here. So much and so little has happened. I tend to go for a more glass half empty approach when looking back on what I've done, and I'll always feel that I could have done more. Shetland was different to Iceland in that each day wasn't filled with a grand sense of wonder or a steady stream of pinch-yourself moments. That's just the way it is - before Iceland I was already SO keen to visit whereas Shetland didn't come with such a preconceived notion of thrilling expectation. 

Still, I loved being out here on my own, and I don't regret a thing. There are ideas and tangents to continue when I get to Korpo and when I eventually land back in Melbourne, which is a good thing. There was finally some lasting snow that came in overnight, and from what I can see Aberdeen also got a good dusting. All good omens heading into part 3 of 3.

More Rocks More Waves More Grey

Another day, another coastline to explore! (Are you sensing a theme here?) On Tuesday I veered west to Northmavine, a chunk of Mainland that’s connected only by a tiny ithmus. I pulled up at Esha Ness - another spectacular peninsula with a lighthouse and a fragmented coastline to explore. Silly me missed my alarm, so I lost time by not setting out before sunrise, which in turn made my excursion a little more hurried. Regardless of that, the rocks and waves were breathtaking, in particular the sea stack Dore Holm with its gaping archway. 

Heading back down to the car rental I stopped for lunch at Britain’s most northerly fish and chip shop in Brae. I realised it was the first meal outside of a lighthouse in what felt like years. The chips were a bit stodgy but the doorstopper sized piece of haddock was crispy, juicy and delicious. I’m not one to photograph my food so just imagine cold windswept Brian stuffing his face with delicious fried food. 

All in all it was a short but sweet road trip. I wish I could say that I had spent more time exploring Shetland in the last two months, but this was better than nothing. The climate and weather definitely felt like more of a hindrance compared to other places I've travelled to. I should at least be glad that I don’t need to deal with the alternative of a hyped up locale that’s crawling with other tourists waving selfie sticks and telescopic lens'. 

Island Hopping

With so little time, I thought the best way to make the most of the car would be to take it as far north as possible. It just so happened that the coastline along the top end of Unst (the northernmost of the main islands) is pretty spectacular, so I set off super early the next day. Owing to the limited hours of light, I set my alarm for an ungodly hour and was in the car driving north in the dark by 6am. For the record it took about 3 and a half hours to go from the bottom to the top. 

To get to Unst I first had to take a ferry from Mainland to the connecting island of Yell. I was told by more than one person that Yell is boring and monotonous. Whether or not that’s true is beside the point, as I didn’t have time to see everything anyway. From the docks at the bottom I cleared Yell in about 25 minutes to reach the ferry bound for Unst on the top end. True to form it was an uneventful drive. 

After the second ferry I then drove to the top of Unst, where the northern headland of Hermaness has been set aside as a bird and wildlife sanctuary. I walked across some slippery walkways and paths through fields that become nesting grounds for endemic bird species in the springtime - now only occupied by cold-resistant sheep. During last month's brief detour back home I managed to get a replacement pair of hiking boots. The old pair, while sturdy, were also completely rubbish at keeping out moisture, something that isn’t helpful in a country that never seems to dry completely. The new pair proved to be a good investment as I scaled the sea cliffs and muddy fields after the boardwalks with comfortably dry warm feet. 

Muckle Flugga is the name of the tiny islet that sits just off the coast. Together with the appropriately named Out Stack a little further up, it's the northernmost point of Britain. You could call it the full stop to the British Isles. Against all odds there's also a lighthouse on Muckle Flugga, and at one point it was manned by some poor soul that had the joy/misfortune of calling that rocky outcrop home. (It's now automated)

Getting back to the car I drove around the rest of Unst to find that nothing much else was open. Bobby's Bus Shelter is a bus stop near the village of Baltasound that was saved from demolition by a kid called Bobby and each year is decorated with a different theme, although they always keep up a sofa, tv, phone and pot plants. I didn't check to see if the appliances worked. 

On my search for a coffee, I drove through maybe the most depressing settlement I had come across yet. Saxa Vord is a former air force radar station that is now trying to transition into some sort of tourist hub. I can't say if it was because of the time of year, or because it was still a work-in-progress, or because every building was dank and grey, but the place felt utterly miserable. There wasn't a person in sight, and I drove off thinking of all the places I'd rather be than Saxa Vord.

I headed home not long after. I honestly couldn't find much else to do, with all of the tourist-related options closed and the rain starting to get heavier. There was at least time for a coffee in Lerwick - at least things mercifully stayed open in the 'big smoke'. 

Managing Time

As with all places at this latitude at this time of year, every day seems to be shorter than the last. It’s gotten to the point now that if I wake up to a fully lit bedroom, I feel a slight wave of disappointment, knowing that I’ve already wasted some precious daylight hours for that day asleep in bed. With these limited hours to play with (roughly 6 hours of light each day) I had to plan my little road trip properly. The weather is also typically uncooperative - I don’t know if any day has gone by these past two months without either sheets of rain or howling winds hanging about for part or all of the day. Certainly I haven’t experienced a single day of clear cloudless sky; grey seems to be the colour of choice around these parts. 

I kept an eye on the wind forecast most of all. Rain I could at least deal with if it was coming down vertically instead of whipping me right in the face. Seeing a patch of calm over the weekend past I booked in a car on Sunday and walked down to the airport to pick it up. On top of being the lighthouse custodian, Tony also mans the tourist info desk at the airport, so he gave me some suggestions on where to go and what to do. Compared to Iceland and the Faroes, tourism in Shetland really does come to a grinding halt around the end of September. That means I get this wonderful space all to myself, but also that my options for sightseeing would be limited to the great outdoors. Almost all visitor centres, museums, cafes and some accommodation close or operate on heavily scaled back hours.

After getting the car in the afternoon on Sunday, I took it to nearby St Ninian’s Isle. The island isn’t technically an island, as it’s connected by a picturesque 500m long tombolo, or ayre - otherwise known as a sand bar. I took a stroll over to the island and climbed over some of the winding sea cliffs as the sun was starting to set (around 2ish). 

From there I drove to Bonhoga Gallery in Weisdale. To my knowledge there isn’t a dedicated non-commercial gallery space in Shetland so this looked like the next best thing, although Weisdale is also a 20 minute drive beyond Lerwick. There was a neat semi-retrospective by local Shetlander Maxie Bain with some watercolours he had done of the local landscape, as well as other shows dotted around the space. It was already dark by the time I walked out of there at 4, and being so far down south the drive back to the lighthouse took about an hour. 

To Do Lists

So I'm now at the stage of figuring out what I can finish off with the time that I have left to me. I think 10 views of the sea at Bressay and Sumburgh respectively is a healthy amount. That leaves 40(!!!!) more to get through in the next three months. Difficult but doable. 

I have a few more paintings and drawings to finish up, depending on how well I can manage my time. I'm not one to leave loose threads hanging I guess, even though the easy option would be to relax and think of all the time I have to get things done in Finland next month. 

Week 2 and 3 down

So the inevitable blogging slump happened. Who would've thought that a weekly update on my work would've been just a stretch too far? Things have been going well. The studio continues to be a beautiful dream and I found time to hastily rent a car and take it for a quick spin around the place, for fear of actually going through two months of living here and only seeing as far as out my studio window. It's now terrifyingly my last week here and I have things to do! Clock's a ticking. Finland is waiting.

Week 1 Down

The first week here at Sumburgh has come and gone, so I thought it would be good to do a little update. There isn't as much going on (to blog about at least) compared to the last few months of traipsing around Norway and Scotland, but I suppose my priorities have shifted somewhat since settling down here. 

The work is slowly gaining momentum, and I'm feeling better about writing that second half of Bressay off as an unfortunate/toxic combination of circumstances. I have a few different tangents running now - most important of all is the ongoing series of sea paintings. I managed to complete 10 pieces before I moved to Sumburgh, and I'd like to at least surpass that number before I fly to Finland at the end of the month. Barring a couple, the majority of the Bressay sea paintings focused on waves and more specifically, that glorious light reflecting off at sundown. Here at Sumburgh I'll be going a different route and painting the coastline, and that interaction between land/water.

I've been thinking of how to move forward with what I make here, and it will be important to curate and edit my ideas. Iceland was so easy to manage when it came time to do the show as I just dumped everything into the front gallery at OTK and called it a day. I'm definitely aiming for multiple shows next year and it makes sense to separate each show by locations and/or themes. 

Bird Watching

The wind stayed to a minimum on the second day so I strapped on my boots and went for a stroll down to the adjacent Ness of Burgi - the narrow peninsula adjacent to Sumburgh that sits right in front of the viewing platform/studio. It looks close enough, but the walk took about three hours there and back as it winded its way to the airport, detouring around the runway. After passing the miniscule village of Scatness, the grassy slopes narrow and turn into jagged poop-strewn rocks jutting out 45 degrees from the water. I made sure to take plenty of photos, most of which I'll use in my work rather than dumping here on the blog.

One thing I didn't expect was the sheer number of birds that live in and around Sumburgh. It's not just sea birds nesting on the cliff faces, but so many other species just hanging out wherever I looked. There are constantly birds gliding and soaring around the observatory and I just wish there was someone who could point out some of the species because I honestly have no clue.

Slightly Southbound

Greetings from Sumburgh Head! I was up nice and early this morning to pack up the last of my things and attempt to leave without a trace. I had enough time to kill in Lerwick between ferry and bus for an early lunch and to buy a warm woollen Shetland jumper. They’re similar to the Icelandic lopapeysa though maybe a little less scratchy, and more flattering on me without the traditional circular motifs that wrap around the neck hole of a lopapeysa.  

Tony picked me up at the airport, which sits about a mile off from the jagged windswept spur of rock on which the lighthouse sits. Sumburgh is the southernmost point of Shetland, other than lonely Fair Isle, and the spur rises up from sea level to about 100m. This means that the site gets a proper beating by winds racing in from all directions. The sea cliffs all around the lighthouse are teeming with sea birds, and during their nesting season is the site of a huge puffin colony as well. The surrounding waters are also great for spotting whales and dolphins, so I’ll need to keep a lookout for something other than waves.

The site is a lot more built up compared to Bressay. There is a visitor centre, cafe, museum, RSPB offices (Royal Society for the Protection of Birds), and accommodation set aside for tourists and artists. As we’ve now entered the low season, everything will be closed until next year when the coaches and cruise liners start appearing again with the longer summer days. Daylights saving wrapped up on Sunday, and though I’m no expert when it comes to the how and the why, it means that the sun now starts setting at around 3. If past experiences are anything to go by then the extended darkness shouldn’t affect my work too significantly.

There’s a designated workspace in my flat (the old lighthouse keeper’s cottage) which rudely doesn’t have a window that faces anything decent. Thankfully with everything being shut, I can set up my studio in the unoccupied cafe. Unlike the cottage, the cafe sits in a semicircular room with the curved side giving a panoramic 180 degree view of the ocean and back towards mainland Shetland. I should be able to work here uninterrupted for the most part, though I was warned by Nicky and Tony that there could be functions and RSPB meetings rocking up unannounced. Until that time comes I’ll happily plant my feet in the room with the best view. Honestly, if I can’t make it work here then something’s definitely wrong with me. 

Moving

Today’s the last day of my stay here at Bressay, and on reflection I don’t quite know what to make of it. To say it was a total waste of time would be a lie, but I think I just had this expectation of hitting the ground running - happily churning out work like a machine for 30 uninterrupted days. There were so many distractions, and I never settled on some overarching theme or goal that allowed me to gain traction/momentum. People respond to pressure in different ways, and in the past when I’ve had my back to the wall I have been able to ‘get it together’. But being out here on my own with no one to bounce off of I reverted instead to curling up in a ball and procrastinating away the mounting feelings of pressure and expectation. It makes zero sense I know, but when has anything I’ve ever done made sense. 

The more time that passed the less I wanted to commit to anything, the less motivated I felt to work, and the worse I felt about my work. It was a bit of a downward spiral! I questioned why I was here, and I couldn’t find any answer more specific than just wanting to get out here. I need a sense of purpose, not necessarily a master plan laid out months in advance, but a reason and understanding as to why I’m doing this. 

It’s a funny thing when people gush over how much freedom I have to do as I please. But with all that ample space I can’t help but feel overwhelmed and completely unsure of what I want or how to get it. With nothing else going on here I think that doubt just took a hold and dragged me down. I have nothing waiting for me when I fly home in March, aside from whatever opportunities I’ve created for myself here. It’s a daunting thought, and something I absolutely need to face before I get on that plane. 

But I have to stay optimistic. In between packing I plan to smash out one more painting today, and think about what to start on at Sumburgh tomorrow. I’m writing this because I’m not happy with how I’ve made use of the last month, but in no way am I throwing in the towel. Things that go down must come up(?).

Continuing

It's been a strange week or so. The work has progressed, and I've continued painting the sea and the sky, as well as brief forays into sea monsters and self-portraits. Hopefully some of these things can coalesce together in the coming months. 

I wish I could be working a bit quicker, but the pace has definitely slowed down since arriving as I mull over other things. I received news that my great aunt passed away suddenly and unexpectedly on Monday, and it's been a struggle to process that while being here. A lot of my fears and insecurities about travelling here bubbled up to the surface and forced me to question my work and practice from a greater distance. 

I will be flying back home briefly on Thursday to attend the funeral over the weekend, and though I'm dreading the commute, I think it will be good to close that chapter in order to move forward. It's hard not to compare the optimism and unexpected thrills of my time in Iceland, and the past few months here in Norway and Scotland, which although not entirely devastating, have nevertheless been different experiences entirely (for better or worse).

Locals

The good weather continued on into Sunday, this time it actually lasted all day without a shred of wind or rain threatening to spoil my sunny mood. Just like most other parts of rural Scotland, everything shuts down on Sundays. In fact the one cafe on the island has maybe the shortest hours I've ever come across - 12 until 2.30 Tuesdays and Fridays. If the rain isn't too oppressive I might hop over for a visit tomorrow. It feels like such an =event= to go find a cup of coffee. 

The small grocery shop/post office also has a tiny window for business on Sundays from 3 - 4.30pm, so I set off in the afternoon to make it there on time, mostly as I just needed an excuse to go out for a walk. It only took me 45 minutes each way. I find it interesting how our idea of what constitutes an acceptable walking distance changes so significantly when we're abroad. If I had my car on hand I wouldn't think twice to jump in and drive 3 minutes down the road, but without that option here a brisk stroll across the island sounds idyllic (the same goes for every other time/place I was a cheapskate and decided not to attempt public transport).

Along the way I met some stupidly adorable Shetland ponies, which looked so comically dumb standing at about waist height with their bulging barrel-like bodies and squat undersized legs. In hindsight I should have brought some carrots with me, but they came trundling over anyway when I resorted to just waving a fistful of grass at them. A part of me fantasised the whole way back on maybe just giving everything up to run away and start a hobby farm for a small herd of Shetland ponies (alongside the alpacas and Norwegian camels).