I was invited by Shalmali Shetty to write a short piece for her publication this cloud may burst (2020), which was submitted as part of her GSA MLitt in Curatorial Practice (Contemporary Art). Shetty invited four researchers and artists – Debi Banerjee, Sean Patrick Campbell, Katri Heinämäki and myself – to reflect on ideas of loss and preservation of memory around their use of archival material in their work. The publication has an overview A memorial to memories by Shetty.
For my contribution, Overlaps: Island Post Office, I look at one post and telegraph office, on the Hebridean island of Eriskay. In the course of researching early twentieth century women photographers in Scotland, I began to notice periodic overlaps of subject matter, locations or even people in their photographs. From trawling their archives, I saw that Edinburgh photographer Violet Banks (1896-1985) and American photographer and folklorist Margaret Fay Shaw (1903-2004) had separately photographed the same post and telegraph office. The writing begins with the photographs made by these two women, then tracks this particular example of the island post office to the 1938 Empire Exhibition in Glasgow.
this cloud may burst can be purchased from Good Press retailing at £10.
With thanks toShalmali Shettyfor the invitation to contribute. Images below from Good Press listing.
Audio reading of text here (6 mins) Photographic index of schools here
The first thing I noticed on returning to Glasgow’s east end, after four months away for lockdown, was the extent to which nature had taken over the streets and a number of the buildings. High weeds were growing profusely along curbs and pavements. The old derelict meat market’s security gates on Bellgrove Street had been prised open, to reveal an abundance of greenery within.
Green Street is a stone’s throw away from Bellgrove Street. It is book-ended by two vacant Glasgow Public School Board buildings- Tureen Street and St James’. Buddleia was reclaiming both, spilling out over the guttering, and in the case of St James’, sprouting profusely over the front elevation. Bushes were forming their own High Line park around the roof of Tureen Street. These became the first School Board of Glasgow buildings that I visited over late July until 30 September 2020. I resolved to make a series of walks during Phase 3 of Scotland’s Route Map, to the remaining- by my calculations- thirty-one schools across the city. 
The School Board of Glasgow built seventy-five schools over the period 1874-1916. Such a profusion of schools was due to The Education (Scotland) Act of 1872, which made schooling free and compulsory for five to thirteen year olds and transferred control of those schools from church to state. Until that point 40% of the school population had not received any education. The new schools were to accommodate an estimated 35000 children. 
The schools were particularly prevalent in number near the big industrial works and foundries, where workforces lived, such as St Rollox Chemical Works (St Rollox Public School and Rosemount Public School in Royston) Parkhead Forge (Parkhead Public School and Newlands Public School only have one main road separating them) and Saracen Foundry, Possilpark (Springburn Public School and Elmvale Public School in close proximity).
The School Board of Glasgow’s large building programme involved commissioning (all male) architects including Charles Rennie Mackintosh, David Thomson, Honeyman and Keppie, H.E. Clifford and McWhannell & Rogerson. Earlier buildings are yellow sandstone, whilst later are red sandstone. Architectural innovations included separate entrances, staircases and playgrounds for boys and girls. The words ‘Boys’, ‘Girls’ and often ‘Infants’ are carved over entrances, on gate posts and, in the case of Golfhill, spelt out in the wrought ironwork of the gate. On the majority of the buildings the school names and ‘School Board of Glasgow’ have been relief carved in the stone. Some of the bolder architectural aesthetics, in particular Mackintosh’s Martyrs’ and Scotland Street, influenced other schools, such as the window details of St Rollox.
The schools over the ensuing century or more since their construction, have had different fates. Town planning had either cleared some or run motorways near to many- the curve of the M8 at Washington Street; the A803 behind Martyrs’ in Townhead, then again by Springburn Public School and Elmvale Primary.
The remaining School Board of Glasgow buildings fall into four different categories: those which were demolished; those currently vacant; those that have had change of use into community or business centres, Council-run social services, residential flats or museums; and those which have remained as schools. Of the second category, Haghill, stands out in all its dereliction. Stranded in the middle of a square of tenements in the East End, the pink-purple willow herb was high around the perimeter, as the yellow ragwort grew through the cracks in the playground.
Eight of the Public Schools remain primary schools – Alexandra Parade (1897), Garnetbank (1905), Saint Denis’ Primary School (Dennistoun Public School, 1883), Dunard Street Primary School (1900), Sir John Neilson Cuthbertson Primary (1906), Al Khalil College (Abbotsford Public School, 1879), Royston Primary School (St Rollox Public School, 1906) and Elmvale Primary School (1901). Brightly coloured hippo, whale and pencil bins populated playgrounds. Chalk grafitti at child height circumnavigated the wall at Elmvale. A blue hula hoop had been successfully thrown to hook over a short pipe on the wall at Royston Primary School. Bunting, messages of hope and Covid-safe banners were instigated on walls and railings to welcome back pupils.
Sir John Neilson Cuthbertson Primary School was the final school on my list to photograph. It was named after the Chairman of the School Board of Glasgow (he was Chair 1885-1903). This was the only building I caught inhabited as during much of the period, schools had remained closed from point of lockdown, 23rd March, to all but the children of key workers, until 11th August 2020. Teachers were outside doing a socially distanced drill in the playground.
The School Board of Glasgow buildings to the east, west, north and south of Glasgow are now comforting sentinels on any traverse across the city. My memory of the view from the train window, as it leaves Glasgow and cuts through Springburn has always been of high rises. Now, I realise, Elmvale Primary School has always been part of that picture.
The following are extracts from a conversation with William Sichel, an ultra-marathon runner. William was British 100km Champion, British No.1 at the 24 hour event and in 2000 was World No.1 for 24 hours (road) with 153.29 miles set at Basel, Switzerland on 13/14 May 2000.
Initially I wanted to speak to William as there was a paradox between the sport he competed in and where he lived – the Orkney island of Sanday which measures 21 km length wise and between 1 and 9 km width wise. For this reason alone he was the ideal person to discuss the meaning of limits with. Moreover I wanted to investigate the implications of running to infinity. As the interview progressed, I understood William had the capacity to ‘handle distance’ because he consistently translated the unknown into facts and figures. By using this method the vague expanse of infinity can be pinned down; concentrated into human scale.
This interview took place in the lounge of a Kirkwall B&B, 24 February 1999.
JB: I was looking at the dictionary definition for ultra and it states that ‘it is an attempt to pass beyond the limits of the known’. I wanted to speak to you about your ultra marathon running. In this sport you are definitely passing beyond these limits. You are almost running to infinity. First of all, could we talk a bit about the distances that are involved? I know there are 100 km races and 24 hour runs.
WS: You are right, ultra does mean beyond the limits. In athletic terms, any distance… well let’s put it this way: A marathon is a set distance, its 26.2 miles, 42.1km. An ultra marathon or ultra-distance race is a race beyond that distance, but obviously in order to organise this sport on a world-wide basis there are two distances that have been accepted as more or less standard distances. One of them is 100km which is 62.2 miles. Then the other one is the 24 hours race which is as far as you can run in 24 hours.
JB: A bit of and obvious question but can a runner become lost on a long distance route?
WS: Well normally the runners don’t have to navigate. We don’t have Global Positioning Devices or anything like that as the terrain we pass over isn’t terribly wild in that sense. There are markers and marshals out on the course too. The only one I can think of is the West Highland Way competition- 93 miles that takes about 20 hours. There you have to be careful. You can go off route. They try to have markers but in this case you do have to navigate.
JB: I had imagined that the routes of these races would be like starting at one point and then just running out completely as far as you can go…
WS: In reality the 100 km races are either point to point or quite often like laps around towns. Courses vary according to what country hosts them. 24 hour races are always held on loops – either on an ordinary running track or…
WS: That was a road loop, 10 miles around a town. They count the laps then measure when you stop, because obviously, especially with 24 hour running it is very important that a careful check is kept on the distances because otherwise all sorts of disputes can occur. Someone says they have run a silly amount and no-one has counted the laps properly. It’s highly regulated so that performances are compared properly. So that’s how it is organised.
JB: When did you make the choice to compete at such a distance? Were you doing marathon running or distance running?
WS: I’ve had a very sporty life. I was heavily into table tennis in the ‘70s and when I retired from that in 1981 that’s just when the marathon boom was starting. I’d always done abit of running for personal fitness and was quite keen to have a go at the marathon running. I just went ahead and did a marathon with not much training and did a very fast time just straight off. I did 2 hrs 43 which is you know, quite a reasonable time. In 1982 we moved to Sanday… I wasn’t involved in any formal competitive athletics or running until 1992 when I got back into half marathons and marathons. It was someone at the shop where I got all of my running supplies by mail order who suggested the ultra marathon. He was asking about my training and about racing and did I recover quickly and I said yes, that I had raced 3 in 1993 and recovered well. He then asked me how far did I run on my training on the island and I said that quite often on a Sunday I would run about 20-25 miles, I enjoyed it. And he said, ‘Oh! Have you ever thought of ultra-marathon running?’ And I said, ‘No’ [laughs]. He said, ‘Well, it sounds like you might be quite good at it because you handle distances.’ He went on to explain all about the international set up – the Scottish championships, the British teams. To cut a long story short I came second on the TT course where the motor cycle race is on the Isle of Man and as soon as I crossed the line I thought, ‘I’m an ultra marathon runner!’
JB: How do you see the landscape because I was reading in ‘The Ultimate Encyclopedia of Extreme Sports’ that extreme athletes would see landscape differently from someone else. The example they gave was a mountaineer. If a mountaineer happens to be passing by mountains they will see them but at the same time be working out routes across them.
WS: With me it’s assessing what clothing I would wear that day. I have a wide range of outdoor clothing so I can train in quite bad weather.
WS: As you say, where can I run today! When you go places you think it would be great to run up that landscape feature. You do look at it wondering how you can enjoy and get out into it.
JB: Because of the great distance you cover in these race routes, what do you find yourself thinking about?
WS: What I find is although some courses, I suppose the 100km courses like the one in Japan, were spectacularly scenic, in reality I find when you are running, you just do not see it. I might as well be running around that table top [points at B&B table] to be honest because in ultra running, I find the psychological side of it is of overwhelming importance. Obviously you’ve got to have the fitness, you’ve got to have done the training but after that, the mental side is enormous. What I find is I focus on various things. At the moment I’ve started working with a sports psychologist from the University of Sunderland and they teach you to focus on key words. You never say things like ‘I’m feeling bad now’. You would say, ‘I’ll be feeling stronger soon’, so it is all down to positive thinking. Focus on a positive word and use it like a mantra. And then you use things like visual imagery where… say for example, if you’re just running around a track for a long time you might think ‘I want to be running strongly’, so you start to visualise yourself running really strongly or you might liken yourself to an animal running. So this is all going on inside your head but in the meantime you are maintaining rhythm and relaxation. Obviously this is an enormous area for development. In a way your mind is the limiting factor after a certain point.
JB: People might find it strange that you live within the limits of a small island but then run these huge distances all over the world.
WS: Sanday’s not a bad island. There are several loops I can run. Some of the other smaller islands would be hopeless but here I have several loops – a 3 mile loop, a 6 mile loop, a 10 mile loop. So you can do a combination of laps. I think the other thing is that in Orkney, as you know, there is such a feeling of space. Because of the wide horizons you can see 25 miles each way…
JB: Yes, you live right near the edge as well.
WS: We do. I can just open my door and we’re looking out to Fair Isle. Even though I live on a small island there’s a tremendous feeling of space. You’re surrounded by the sea all right, but you’ve got these tremendously wide horizons. You don’t feel closed in at all. You don’t feel that you’re on a small island.
Postcard, original photograph, Violet Banks, c. 1920s.
Postcard, original photograph, Violet Banks, c. 1920s.
In 2019, I was invited by National Trust for Scotland archivist Fiona J Mackenzie to be involved in the #CannaTweet Conference ‘The Female (or Those Identifying as Female) Photographer in Scotland & Her Archives- Contribution and Connection’ , which gave me the opportunity to consider the field of researchers currently working on early twentieth century filmmakers and photographers in Scotland.
Shona Main is exploring the work of Shetland film-maker Jenny Gilbertson (1902-1990), whose archive is held by Shetland Museum and Archive. Shona is a Scottish Graduate School for Arts & Humanities (SGSAH) supported practice-led candidate at University of Stirling and the Glasgow School of Art.
Maya Darrell Hewins is a PhD student at Shetland College UHI, investigating community-led archiving initiatives, with Shetland Film Archive as her primary case study. This volunteer-run community led group collect, manage and make accessible moving image material about Shetland, including amateur film footage.
Caroline Douglas is a PhD candidate at Royal College of Art. Her project ‘Women in Early Scottish Photography’ has researched the women involved in the wider process of making early photography, focusing on those who were assistants and subjects as well as makers.
Isabel Segui (University of St Andrews) has researched filmmaker sisters Ruby Grierson (1904-1940) and Marion Grierson (1907-1998), examining how they are documented in the Grierson Collection University of Stirling Archives. This was funded by SGSAH. Her new website is https://thegriersonwomen.wordpress.com/
Rachel Pronger and Camilla Baier are ‘archive activists’. Their ‘Invisible Women’ project seeks to re-insert forgotten women filmmakers of the 1930s and 1940s back into the story of film. This includes Kay Mander (1915-2013) and Evelyn Spice Cherry (1904-1990).
Sarah Neely (University of Glasgow), as well as her scholarship on Orcadian filmmaker Margaret Tait (1918-1999), has also written on Isobel Wylie Hutchison (1889-1982) who travelled to Greenland and the Arctic to make botanical films. Royal Scottish Geographic Society holds Hutchison’s archive.
Fiona J Mackenzie is Canna House National Trust for Scotland archivist. She has been re-interpreting Margaret Fay Shaw’s (1903-2004) images, films and words, telling the story of Shaw’s life and work. She builds on the lifework of retired Canna House archivist Magda Sagarzazu.
I spoke about Edinburgh photographer Violet Banks (1886-1985) and M.E.M. Donaldson (1876-1958). Banks travelled across the Hebrides in the 1920s. Her archive is at Historic Environment Scotland. M.E.M. Donaldson made many walks across the Highlands and Islands, using her photographs for her travel guides. The landscapes part of her archive is held by Inverness Museum and Art Gallery. Read more about these two photographers here. 
Rachel Boyd, currently studying MLitt History of Photography at University St Andrews, was the second speaker at #CannaTweet Conference, exploring how Margaret Fay Shaw’s 1930s’ photographs of South Uist linked both to the land and the community, arguing that ‘Shaw’s portraits were faithfully attributed with Gaelic patronymics, situating them in their ancestral heritage, attributed not just by the character of the local landscape enveloping them or their farming implements – but in relation to each other.’
 #CannaTweet Conference took place 14.5.19. A Tweet conference is a method to present a paper entirely on Twitter, across an agreed number of tweets per speaker.
 Hugh Cheape has written on M.E.M. Donaldson in the excellent article ‘Herself and Green Maria: the photography of M.E.M. Donaldson’, Cheape, H, ‘Studies in Photography’ (2006). Jennifer Morag Henderson is currently writing Donaldson’s biography.
Referring to William Blake’s illustration Europe: A Prophecy (1793) showing the god Urizen measuring the limits of the material world with a set of dividers, I surveyed EU subsidy to Scotland at Eoropie beach, Isle of Lewis, Scotland on 29 March 2019, the first delayed date of the UK’s exit from the European Union.
Card available; edition of 150.
‘Measuring European Union subsidy in Scotland, after William Blake’s Europe: A Prophecy‘, Jenny Brownrigg Photo: Alastair S. Macdonald
Photo: Elizabeth Shannon
Eoropie beach, 29 March 2019 Photo: Jenny Brownrigg
Eoropie beach, 29 March 2019 Photo: Jenny Brownrigg
Eoropie beach, 29 March 2019 Photo: Jenny Brownrigg
Following on from my visit to Isle of Eigg, where I visually documented the places that M.E.M Donaldson (1876-1958) photographed, I am slowly visiting the other locations she mentioned or photographed in her travel guide ‘Wanderings in the Western Highlands and Islands’, (1921), published by Alexander Gardner Ltd, Paisley). I spent this past weekend in North Ballachulish, which lies five miles from the Corran ferry, which connects to Ardnamurchan. M.E.M. Donaldson would have taken the road through North Ballachulish numerous times, from her early visits to when she finally moved to Sanna Bay, at the tip of the Ardnamurchan peninsula in 1927. Indeed, in her travel guide she recalls,
‘When it was time for the car to start, even quicker sped the glorious journey down the shores of Loch Linnhe to Ballachulish, for all the way along, and increasingly, the scenery is a feast of good things; and whether it be the sea, the distant mountains, or the road itself, every prospect delights your heart’. (P. 269)
North Ballachulish. Photo: Jenny Brownrigg
The church door to St Bride’s remained open during my days in North Ballachulish, for curious wayfarers but also, I suspect, for the swallows that were nesting in the rafters of the vestibule. Both Carnglas (also known as Rhuba Mor) and Clach a’ Charra sites are located on private farmland. Donaldson records that Carnglas was a secret outdoor location to take the sacrament; an example of worship in the 18th century when Catholicism was illegal in Scotland. The ‘soldiers’ she refers to were the Jacobites. Donaldson also mentions earlier in the book that, ‘… in 1768 the Roman Catholic authorities… [built] a college at Buorblach, at the mouth of the Morar river. Here many a ‘heather priest’ was trained, until, in 1778, the college was transferred to Samalaman in Moidart.’ (P. 88). Another example of the ‘heather priests’ being secretly trained in Scotland is at Scalan Seminary, in the Braes of Glenlivet, Morayshire.
‘At North Ballachulish you may see in the summer glorious fields starred with the white and gold of ox-eyes and corncockles, and framed with the vividly bright pink of the wild rose, furrows of meadow sweet beyond the sparkling waters of the loch, and everywhere the towering mountains stretching far up through Glencoe to the wild and lonely expanse of the moor at Rannoch, and to the head of Loch Leven.’ (P. 270)
North Ballachulish, loch side, Loch Linnhe. Photo: Jenny Brownrigg
‘Just about a mile short of North Ballachulish ferry, you pass at the foot of the craggy hillside the beautiful little church of S. Bride… I have been to the Three Hours’ Service on a wet Good Friday at S. Bride’s, and it has been a lesson to see the reverent intentness of a goodly congregation of Highlanders, mostly men, nearly all of whom were present throughout the devotion. (P. 271)
St Bride’s, North Ballachulish. Photo: Jenny Brownrigg
St. Bride’s, North Ballachulish. Photo: Jenny Brownrigg
‘At Onich… standing in a field by the shores of Loch Linnhe, is the noteworthy perforated standing stone called Clach a’ Charra, 6 feet 8 inches high and 3 feet 10 inches at its widest part. This, an irregularly-shaped monolith… has every appearance of having been obtained from the bed of some river which, aided by the action of stones, has worn part of the surface into a hollow and at two points into holes about 21/4 inches in diameter.’ (P. 269)
‘These Highlanders are in a true succession of their heroically enduring forefathers, who, despite relentless persecution, kept true to the faith of the church. For in a field near by the present Loch Leven Hotel is Carnglas, supposed to have been once the site of a Columban church, and here the forefathers of the present Faithful Remnant used to assemble secretly to receive the Blessed Sacrament. The officiating itinerant priest disguised himself in a grey suit, and a sentinel was posted on an eminence commanding the Fort William road, to give warning if any soldiers were approaching.’ (P.272)
This piece of writing lay incomplete, seeking its correct form, after its beginnings on my one-week residency at Sweeney’s Bothy, Isle of Eigg in November 2016. In December 2018, I was invited by The Bothy Project, the residency host, to speak about my research on early photographer M.E.M Donaldson, and the series of photographs she had made on Eigg. I completed this text to open the presentation, endeavouring to lead myself and the audience to the point that Donaldson takes a photograph at Laig Bay, of a woman who walks along the beach. I had experienced her photography as ‘a journey into’ a landscape, so ‘Walking towards a photograph’ echoes my aims for the residency, which were to locate the exact spots on the island, where Donaldson had taken her series of images, in order to understand more about her methods. A number of her photographs of Eigg illustrate her travel book ‘Wanderingsin the Western Highlands and Islands’ [Published by Paisley: Alexander Gardner Ltd, 1920].
The sound shifts where there is something for the air to engage with,
Flowing through the dry, florescent leaves of a cottage copse,
or carried from source at Beinn Bhuide.
The dancing water follows the gravitational pull,
slicing under the tarmac of the main road to Cleadale,
to stalk the farm road down to Laig Bay.
Here stranded at the the farm road’s mouth
lies a Toyota jeep with half a registration plate L878,
A blue sticker on its pushed in side window declares– YES!
Last night’s rain follows a snaking tributary down a shallow gulley,
past a Castrol Oil drum, caught in the first curve.
This juncture provides an excellent platform
To see Laig Farm in the distance,
nestled by foothills then the cliffs that
surround the top of the bay.
Continuing on, the track continues to dip,
And the sea disappears
As the vegetation grows high.
Black and red rosehips compete with brambles
that grow through and over the orange bracken,
reaching up to trace along the lowest tree branches,
then twist across the stream
which declares itself by sound only.
In fact, three different sounds of water can be heard:
Behind – the louder water from the cliffs of Beinn Bhuidhe;
Beside – the small stream now lost in yellow rushes
Ahead -the distant sea waves.
A singular fence post, with its wire haphazard and low to the ground,
halts to demarcate nothing.
A fat rainbow sprouts up to the left of the white church
With its green wooden window frames and door.
My wrists are cold.
I can feel the larger gray stones under my boots.
I and my shadow circumnavigate the larger puddles,
Avoiding the soaked heads of long grass.
The peat brown stream as it nears the beach, flows high and deep.
An inconsequential log fords it, to connect
With the small grassy verge, lined with sheep tracks,
That disperse into the low dunes.
The stream, now a tributary, reflects Rùm,
cutting the beach in two, to run into the sea.
Black brain coral lies beyond
these untrustworthy depths.
Instead, as I am not the protagonist,
I retreat to the rise before the beach,
to locate where she once stood,
as she observed the woman who walked along Laig Bay.
‘A well painted figure subject from Miss Greenlees … Study of gladiolus, artistic in drawing and good in colour is shown by Mrs Provan … Mrs Robertson sends nicely painted vases, while Madame Röhl shows to advantage in birch trees… Miss Nisbet artistic drawings of poppies and Miss Henderson, well painted lilies. Whilst there is much commendable work there is a lack of variety and a total absence of domestic subjects which might be expected in such an exhibition.’
Glasgow Herald 5 Jan 1884, p4, held in Mitchell Library Special Collections
The above quote is from a critique of an early exhibition that founding members of the Glasgow Society of Lady Artists participated in. Very little beyond a list of names from a transcribed speech in the slim volume ‘History of the Society of Lady Artists’ Club’, (1950, printed by Robert Maclehose and Company Limited) can initially be ascertained about the eight women who established this society in 1882, with its primary aim to afford due recognition and opportunity to women in the art field.
This essay for the publication ‘Raoul Reynolds: A Retrospective’ (Poursuite Editions, 2018, ed. Zappia, F and TANK Art Space Marseille) roves between non-fiction and fiction, gathering through press cuttings, archival holdings, online marriage registers and existing scholarly work more information about Miss Greenlees, Miss Patrick, Mrs Robertson, Miss Nisbet, Mrs Agnew, Mme Röhl, Mrs Provan and Miss Katherine Henderson; whilst introducing the fictional character of Henriette Aliès-Reynolds, an early feminist and artist who went to the Glasgow School of Art at the end of the 19th century. Aliès-Reynolds is part of the collective fiction of the life of Raoul Reynolds, created by Francesca Zappia (independent curator, Glasgow) and TANK Art Space (Marseille) as part of their curated group exhibition ‘Raoul Reynolds: A Retrospective’ (2016) .
‘…The studios became the site of the annual exhibition. The stairs at 136 Wellington Street are described by two critics. In the Lady’s Pictorial (1890):
In a miniature gallery perched atop of an excruciating number of stairs winding up to one of the high-lands of Wellington Street, which traverses the heart of the local artist colony.
The Stirling Journal and Advertiser (March 27, 1891): ‘I climbed the interminable stairs and found myself in the eyrie’.
In standing outside Wellington Street, one must still strain one’s neck in order to see the line of small windows in the top floor…’
 The publication is linked to the exhibition ‘Raoul Reynolds: a Retrospective’ (2016), curated by Zappia and Tank Art Space (Marseille) at Scotland Street Museum, Glasgow, as part of Glasgow International Festival of Visual Art; and La Friche la Belle de Mai, Marseille (2016).’ Raoul Reynolds: A Retrospective’ was the result of a collective and collaborative exhibition made by twelve artists and a curator. It aimed to further develop the existing cultural exchange that forms part of the cooperation and twinning agreements between the two cities of Glasgow and Marseille. Thus, the twelve artists – Stéphanie Cherpin, Helen de Main, Sandro della Noce, Guillaume Gattier, Amandine Guruceaga, Benjamin Marianne, James McLardy, Douglas Morland, Philippe Murphy, Emilie Perotto, Bobby Niven and Alys Owen – represent the emergent artistic, and notably sculptural, scenes of the two cities. Together, they have collaborated and signed their works under the name of Raoul Reynolds.
 The book editors are Francesca Zappia (independent curator, Glasgow) and Amandine Guruceaga (TANK Art Space, Marseille). The four other publication contributors are Éric Mangion (Director of Exhibitions at the Villa Arson, Nice, France), curator and art critic Thimothé Chaillou and art historian Anna Dezeuze (L’école supérieure d’art & de design Marseille-Méditerranée). The publisher is Poursuite Editions, a french-based publisher focused on photography and related topics.
‘A Psychic Conversation with The Big Grey Man’ was my contribution to Alan Grieve’s ‘Dry Your Eyes, Big Man’ at Workspace, Dunfermline (7.7.18). The one night show and event brought together responses to The Big Grey Man of Ben MacDhui. Haunting Scotland’s second highest mountain, this legend or ‘strange phenomena’ engenders terror in those that experience its presence, with some hearing footsteps, others seeing a huge figure in the mist. Wendy Wood describes her own encounter in her book ‘The Secret of Spey’ (published by Robert Grant & Son, 1930):
‘It was on a dull day, with light snow lying, and I had no further intention than to wander to the mouth of the Lairig…I stopped to enjoy these surroundings, the uprush of the cliffs of Creag a’ Leth-choin, too steep to hold the snow, and the shadowed side of Sron na Lairig, and as I turned to retrace my steps I heard a voice of gigantic resonance. It spoke with the harsh consonants and full vowels of the Gaelic, but it issued so close to me that I was too startled, and I suppose I might as well confess, too scared, to unravel or even remember the sound of the words’.
Affleck Grey’s ‘The Big Grey Man of Ben MacDhui: Myth or Monster?’ (Lochar Publishing, 1989) brings together the evidence of those who have seen or heard him. During World War 2, on mountain rescue duty, Peter Densham and Richard Frere found themselves in a conversation with the Big Grey Man- on what subject, they were unable to recall:
‘I was surprised after a little to hear Frere apparently talking to himself. Then I had the impression that he was talking to someone on the other side of the cairn. I went around and found myself joining in the conversation. It was a strange experience which seemed to have a psychic aspect. We talked to someone invisible for some time, and it seemed we had carried on this conversation for some little time, when we suddenly realised that there was no-one there but ourselves. Afterwards, neither of us, strangely, could recall the purport of this extraordinary conversation’.
P.7, ‘The Big Grey Man of Ben MacDhui: Myth or Monster?’, Affleck Gray
‘A Psychic Conversation with The Big Grey Man’ imagines such a conversation taking place, and seeks to re-imagine the Grey Man’s purpose of haunting these particular slopes and his approach to hill walkers. The text is laid out in the shape of his spectral silhouette.
Installation at ‘Dry Yer Eyes, Big Man’, Workspace Dunfermline, 2018. Photo: Alan Grieve
‘Dry Yer Eyes, Big Man’, Alan Grieve, Workspace Dunfermline, 2018. Photo courtesy the artist