Ross Ryan | The Logbook Vol.2 - Batten Down the Hatches | May 2020 | The Scottish Gallery

THE LOG BOOK VOL. 2

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THE LOGBOOK VOL. 2

ARTIST

ROSS RYAN EXHIBITION TITLE

BATTEN DOWN THE HATCHES DATES TH

29 APRIL — 30TH MAY 2020

VESSEL INFORMATION

SGARBH

16 DUNDAS STREET EDINBURGH EH3 6HZ +44 (0) 131 558 1200 mail@scottish-gallery.co.uk scottish-gallery.co.uk

CONTENTS

4

2019 N° 1

The Referendum at Sea

Pencil & oil on paper

8

N° 2

Father and Son, Crinan

Oil & pastel on board

10

N° 3

Port Ban Looking North, Iona

Pastel on board

12

N° 4

Port Ban, Iona

Pastel on board

14

N° 5

Sound of Iona from the Gordon’s

Pastel on board

15

N° 6

Port Charlotte, Islay

Pencil & oil on paper

16

N° 7

Unknown Fate

Oil on board

18

N° 8

Out of the worst of it, Sgarbh

Oil on board

19

N° 9

The Waverly at Sleep, River Clyde

Oil & pastel on board

20

N° 10

Alongside for the Night Sgarbh and the Puffer, River Clyde

Oil & pastel on board

22

N° 11

Night Life Up the Clyde

Oil & pastel on paper

24

N° 12

The Glenlee Towers over Sgarbh, River Clyde

Oil & pastel on paper

26

N° 13

Stevenson Light, Dubh Artach

Oil & pastel on board

28

N° 14

Sgarbh Ghosting by Lagavulin

Oil & pastel on board

30

N° 15

Dram’o’clock, Islay

Pencil & oil on paper

32

N° 16

Craighouse, Jura

Pencil & oil on paper

34

N° 17

Stevenson Light, Skerryvore

Oil & pastel on board

36

N° 18

Night Study of Dubh Artach Lighthouse

Oil & pastel on paper

38

N° 19

First Flash, Dubh Artach Lighthouse

Pastel on paper

39

N° 20

The Frenzy

Oil & pastel on board

40

N° 21

Cormorants off Ruadh Sgeir Lighthouse

Pencil & oil on paper

42

N° 22

Distress Flare Study

Oil & pastel on paper

43

N° 23

Red Flare over the Corryvreckan

Oil & pastel on board

44

N° 24

Sunday’s Fleet

Oil on board

46

N° 25

Delayed Departure, Sgarbh, Tobermory

Oil & pastel on board

48

N° 26

Far too Early, Oban

Pastel on paper

50

N° 27

Black House, Tiree

Oil on board

52

N° 28

Scarinish, Tiree

Oil on board

53

N° 29

Beach Study, Iona

Oil & pastel on paper

54

N° 30

Departing Light, Iona

Oil & pastel on board

56

CONTENTS

5

2020 N° 31

Pressure Dropping, Kintyre

Oil & pastel on board

60

N° 32

The Storm, Kintyre

Oil on board

62

N° 33

Advancing Squall, Iona

Oil & pastel on paper

64

N° 34

Priest Rock, Barra

Oil & pastel on board

66

N° 35

Tangasdale Beach, Barra

Oil & pastel on board

68

N° 36

The Burn, Barra

Oil & pastel on board

69

N° 37

Large Seas, Vatersay

Oil & pastel on paper

70

N° 38

Wee Study, Vatersay

Oil & pastel on board

71

N° 39

Traigh Varlish, Vatersay

Oil & pastel on board

72

N° 40

Kilchiaran Bay, Islay

Oil & pastel on board

74

N° 41

Saligo Bay, Islay

Oil & pastel on board

75

N° 42

Lagavulin

Oil on board

76

N° 43

The Rescue of Catunasanga

Pencil & oil on paper

78

MESSAGE RECEIVED N° 44

Catriona’s Bottle, Tiree

Oil & pastel on paper

82

N° 45

Hurricane Force, Tiree

Oil & pastel on board

84

N° 46

Mairi’s Bottle, Tiree

Oil & pastel on board

86

N° 47

Sheltering Fleet, Milton

Oil & pastel on board

88

N° 48

Barra in the Distance from Balephetrish Bay

Oil & pastel on board

90

N° 49

Andrew’s Bottle, Coll

Oil & pastel on paper

92

NOTES

6

SEAMAN’S JOURNAL

Foreword from the Skipper Lying west on the outer banks are two of the Stevensons’ largest lighthouses: Dubh Artach and Skerryvore. They are known by few but have offered salvation to thousands. Over 150 years their lights have blinked a simple message, a warning of the utmost danger.

During this time, rage-filled seas have continued to de denied their rights for demolition.

Such conditions are no place for the Sgarbh. However, when the wind was busy frothing up waters elsewhere, a window of opportnity opened allowing me to briefly sail through past battlefields.

During the winter I painted from the shore, recording the sea in all her anger. Here is a force that could move a beach overnight and flick rocks like unwanted peas. Many of these paintings are from when the pressure dropped, started and completed in the one sitting. Not all of them made it.

N.B. Of the Message in Bottles launched during the 2017 ‘solo winter voyage’, several have been found. Three of them took me to Tiree and Coll. I painted where they washed up and met those that discovered them.

NOTES

7

15 | 07 | 2019

Painting at Dubh Artach Lighthouse, a lonely 50 miles west of Crinan

09 | 12 | 2018

24 | 06 | 2019

Unloading a catch of paintings, Crinan pier

Preparing Sgarbh before the long run to Dubh Artach Lighthouse

NOTES

15 | 07 | 2019

Training with the Crinan coastguard team, Sgarbh in the background

8

2019 THE LIGHTHOUSES CRINAN IONA ISLAY RIVER CLYDE JURA CORRYVRECKAN WHIRLPOOL MULL TIREE

18 | 09 | 2014

Location: 50 miles west of Crinan

Wind: ————

Dubh Artach Lighthouse lies in offshore waters 50 miles west of Crinan. The name translates to ‘black one of death’ and was engineered by Thomas Stevenson, father of Robert Louis Stevenson.

Robert, too, was involved, though not through will. On top of the hill on the Isle of Erraid you will find a large boulder.

Robert christened this the ‘wishing rock’, a place to escape from the stringent order of physics and maths to one of deep imagination.

I had to wait till 2014 before I saw Dubh Artach’s strong oscillating beam.

The date was September 18th, the night of the Scottish referendum. Constant coverage had driven a friend and I to steer a course 150 miles west to the edge of the continental shelf, aboard his 90year-old sailboat. We would find out what country we were in on our return.

As Scotland was counting, we were passing the north end of Colonsay. Sails were filled and she dipped her shoulder confidently into passing waves. The phosphorescence was abundant, at times perfectly illuminating the following dolphins as they hunted mackerel. In the distance the lighthouse flashed twice every 30 seconds. Pitch black, we could

The Referendum at Sea N° 1 Pencil & oil on paper 54.5 × 59.5

cm

10

only hear the waves smashing into the rocks, an ominous sound no doubt heard by less fortunate sailors. We speedily slipped under the giant cyclopes, with toes curled.

The following afternoon the depth went from 200 to 4000 meters within a mile. We had reached the edge of the shelf. Before turning for the long run home, I tossed over a few messages-inbottles and noticed the sea now had that oceanic look.

When Jura came into sight, we checked any passing vessels for clues on the result of the referendum. One fishing boat had Saltires flying but that was not enough to go by as they often do. On arrival back at Crinan Harbour an old man was sitting by the pier.

“So what country are we in?” I asked.

Puzzled, and after a pause, he returned, “Scotland”.

“Yes, but which Scotland? The same as last week?”, I pushed.

“Aye the same old Scotland”, came the dry reply.

Later I wondered what a sight we must have been, bearded, unwashed and lost. Well, at least in his eyes.

11

14 | 11 | 2018

Location: Crinan pier

Wind: ————

Boy Ken, Coral Strand, Valonia, and Lynn Marie are just a few of the scallop boats the boys have fished out of from Crinan.

They are of Manx stock but seldom found there. John and his son Wayne are the remaining handful of true nomadic fishermen.

While growing up in the 70’s, Crinan was awash with brightly coloured timber boats. The place stank of fish even when the wind blew offshore. Every day I watched the fleet come in. Over time I could tell by the tone of their engines which boat would be rounding Ardno point. I shared a room with my sister that lay right alongside the pub’s patio.

From a very young age, and with ears tuned for trouble, we soon developed a distinct vocabulary from the constant effing and blinding fisherman.

The pub now is no doubt less rowdy.

Tables that were once awash with drink and overfilled ashtrays are now neatly covered by fresh prawns and finger bowls, while shadowing well behaved dogs.

I seldom visit now, though when the ‘boys’ are landing you might find me there.

Father and Son, Crinan N° 2 Oil & pastel on board 104 × 122

cm

12

13

11 | 01 | 2019

Location: Iona

Port Ban Looking North, Iona N° 3 Pastel on board 35 × 54.5

cm

Wind: ————

14

15

11 | 01 | 2019

Location: Iona

Port Ban, Iona N° 4 Pastel on board 51 × 56

cm

Wind: ————

16

16 | 01 | 2019

Location: Iona

Wind: ————

17

Sound of Iona from the Gordon’s N° 5 Pastel on board 15 × 20.5

cm

24 | 01 | 2019

Location: Islay

Port Charlotte, Islay N° 6 Pencil & oil on paper 59 × 63.5

cm

Wind: ————

18

19

03 | 03 | 2019

Location: ————

Unknown Fate N° 7 Oil on board 43 × 38

cm

Wind: ————

20

04 | 04 | 2019

Location: ————

Wind: ————

21

Out of the worst of it, Sgarbh N° 8 Oil on board 47 × 138

cm

17 | 05 | 2019

Location: Glasgow

The Waverly at Sleep, River Clyde N° 9 Oil & pastel on board 52 × 94

cm

Wind: ————

22

23

18 | 05 | 2019

Location: Glasgow

Wind: ————

The Clyde offers no phosphorescence churned up in the wake or a sensitively lit Milky Way. Though when the night comes, old Glasgow now wears a new suit, one with bright threads looking as out of place on her stone banks as a riveter drinking a Bacardi Breezer. Though for me, the mishmash works, offering up the opportunity to dust off and squeeze on the seldom used primary colours.

Berlin’s River Spree is no different, somewhere I painted at night for three years. Maybe this is all a reaction to growing up in a village, where the blackness was only interrupted by the flash of the feeble household bulb powering the lighthouse.

Alongside for the night, Sgarbh and the Puffer, River Clyde N° 10 Oil & pastel on board 42 × 88.5

cm

24

25

18 | 05 | 2019

Location: Glasgow

Night Life Up the Clyde N° 11 Oil & pastel on paper 29.5 × 41

cm

Wind: ————

26

27

18 | 05 | 2019

Location: The Clyde

The Glenlee Towers over Sgarbh, River Clyde N° 12 Oil & pastel on paper 144 × 122

cm

Wind: ————

28

25 | 06 | 2019

Location: Dubh Artach

Wind: N 4-5

5 years later I was finally returning to Dubh Artach, now in daylight and aboard my own boat. At Crinan’s small lighthouse Ann and I busily checked stores and shipped on the various equipment that was required.

The run west through the Corryvreckan had us several sightings of a juvenile Minkie whale. Later, the unusually flat seas made it possible to anchor on the west side of Colonsay, a good staging post for the 3–4 hour run to the lighthouse the following morning.

Underway at 0500hrs Dubh Artach was already visible, be it just a flash on the horizon. Half way it was becoming substantial and you could start to see the red band round its middle stained in weed some 70 feet up. That alone sent shivers down my spine. The rock it marks was charcoal black, while the other ones had their sharp teeth positioned just under the surface. Initially I had planned to anchor just long enough to get a painting done. Electronic charting of the area was ok but the best I found was from a survey done originally for the lighthouse some 150 years ago, thats the Victorians for you.

Stevenson Light, Dubh Artach N° 13 Oil & pastel on board 122 × 123

cm

30

With the swell rolling us excessively, anchoring was out the question, as was making a landing. Soon it became apparent the only way to keep her steady was to steam slowly into the swell, a quick turn and then run with it for a half mile or so, before repeating the process.

The turns were pretty chaotic as I tried to hold on while also bracing a big wet painting and pallet. Down below the clatter of un-stowed equipment clanged in rhythm to the rolls. Ann on the helm performed like a master mariner, though maybe slightly unaware to the extent of how far we were offshore. With 5 passes I had a painting, which was fortunate as the wind was now stepping up to a fresh breeze, creating steeper waves against an opposing tide. Delighted we cleared the rocks and steamed home via Iona.

The painting was too big and gloopy to bring into the wheelhouse and thus got a drenching as we passed through the Corryvrekan whirlpool. What was lost in paint was gained in an authenticating layer of salt!

31

Location: Islay

03 | 08 | 2019

Wind: ————

The Broar brothers were able to navigate their rowing boat between the conveniently placed reefs that protected the distilleries. Too much chop had Sgarbh impatiently hovering around the mouth of the bay.

Islay’s ‘Strip’; Laphroaig, Lagavulin and Ardbeg has everything else but the angel’s share. A mass of whisky that reminds the whole world who Scotland is.

The boys were midway through their whisky pillage, a training and PR voyage around the west coast distilleries. After this they had the massive task of rowing the Atlantic. Money raised would bring life and water to those that needed it the most in Madagascar. Jamie, my brotherin-law, is the man responsible for the brilliant, sensitive and extremely proactive charity Feedback Madagascar.

Slanj to Jamie and the boys!

Sgarbh Ghosting by Lagavulin N° 14 Oil & pastel on board 94 × 122

cm

32

33

04 | 08 | 2019

Location: Laphroaig, Islay

Dram ’o’clock, Islay N° 15 Pencil & oil on paper 59.5 × 84

cm

Wind: E 4

34

35

05 | 08 | 2019

Location: Isle of Jura

Craighouse, Jura N° 16 Pencil & oil on paper 84 × 119

cm

Wind: ————

36

37

12 | 08 | 2019

Location: Skerryvore

Wind: WNW 3-5

Approaching in the dingy you soon become aware of the scale of Skerryvore, stacked high on perfectly cut grant blocks so tightly packed you could barely put a fingernail between. Apparently the lower black ones came from Tiree and the rest from Erraid, each at a ton a slab. We weaved the dingy between the large number of grey seals standing sentry to the old bronze ladder. This was very much their rock and they snorted and flapped in disapproval to our presence. Others were at the base of the lighthouse, a good 20 feet up, a mighty task when you have flippers for feet.

On the rocks and still visible were carved names of past keepers, perhaps enjoying a similar day, the font giving away their age.

Sgarbh danced in the distance like a small bath toy, this put stop to any lingering as I felt we had already been fortunate to make a landing.

Stevenson Light, Skerryvore N° 17 Oil & pastel on board 122 × 123

cm

38

Back aboard, paint was put to canvas.

With no warning and close by, an almighty splash followed by a loud slap threw up a column of water. Impending doom sounded various alarms exasperated by the remote location. I dashed into the wheelhouse, the depth was good and down below was also clear of water.

It took another couple of wallops before the culprit was identified.

As if looking for a part in the ‘Blue Planet’ a basking shark shunted its massive bulk clear out of the water while landing less gracefully. I had heard that these docile super fish breach, but seeing it was extraordinary. Soon we had the company of 15 or so more meticulously sieving the water clean of plankton, some not much shorter than the Sgarbh gliding under the hull. Their impressive dorsal fins looked imposing despite their huge toothless mouth just below the water.

39

12 | 08 | 2019

Location: Dubh Artach Lighthouse

Night Study of Dubh Artach Lighthouse N° 18 Oil & pastel on paper 42 × 59.5

cm

Wind: ————

40

12 | 08 | 2019

Location: Dubh Artach Lighthouse

Wind: ————

41

First Flash, Dubh Artach Lighthouse N° 19 Pastel on paper 30 × 33

cm

20 | 10 | 2019

Location: ————

The Frenzy

N° 20 Oil & pastel on board 122 × 122

cm

Wind: ————

42

43

28 | 10 | 2019

Location: Ruadh Sgeir Lighthouse

Cormorants off Ruadh Sgeir Lighthouse N° 21 Pencil & oil on paper 42 × 59.5

cm

Wind: ————

44

31 | 10 | 2019

Location: ————

Wind: ————

45

Distress Flare Study N° 22 Oil & pastel on paper 29.5 × 41

cm

31 | 10 | 2019

Location: Gulf of Corryvreckan

Wind: ————

Dad joined the Coastguard in 1970, the year my folks arrived in Crinan. Equipment back then was minimal. I never saw much more than an old VHF radio and a couple of tatty blue satchels containing torches.

During these early years the closest lifeboat stations were situated at Port Askaig and Oban, both around 30 miles from Crinan. Boats then were far slower than those of today, and a call to our area could take anything from 3–5hrs, depending on the weather.

The seas around Crinan have some of the country’s strongest tides, and there is also the Gulf of the Corryvreckan, a whirlpool situated 5 miles west. If there was an incident in the local area Dad would also be called, while the lifeboats made their way to the scene. The sooner anyone got there the better. Often he would try and grab a fisherman to help, but at times it could just be an unexpecting greasy cook from the hotel.

Red Flare over the Corryvreckan N° 23 Oil & pastel on board 92 × 114

cm

46

The memories are still vivid. When the phone rang late at night, Dad would probably be heading out on the Sgarbh.

If it was poor winter weather we all got up, as no one could sleep. Mum would take us over to the hotel office where we sat and waited for any news on the radio.

On a couple of occasions I recall seeing red flares burn bright, before slowly drifting back down through the empty black, as they silently shouted their message of distress.

Dad was a brave man and he never declined to assist.

47

02 | 12 | 2019

Location: ————

Sunday’s Fleet N° 24 Oil on board 76.5 × 101

cm

Wind: ————

48

49

06 | 12 | 2019

Location: Tobermory

Delayed Departure, Sgarbh, Tobermory N° 25 Oil & pastel on board 100 × 140

cm

Wind: W 9

50

51

07 | 12 | 2019

Location: Departing Oban Pier

Far too Early, Oban N° 26 Pastel on paper 29.5 × 41

cm

Wind: ————

52

53

14 | 12 | 2019

Location: Scarinish, Isle of Tiree

Black House, Tiree N° 27 Oil on board 21.5 × 26

cm

Wind: SW 6

54

14 | 12 | 2019

Location: Scarinish, Isle of Tiree

Wind: SW 6

55

Scarinish, Tiree N° 28 Oil on board 30 × 33

cm

21 | 12 | 2019

Location: Iona

Beach Study, Iona N° 29 Oil & pastel on paper 29.5 × 41

cm

Wind: W 4-5

56

57

21 | 12 | 2019

Location: North End Iona

Departing Light, Iona N° 30 Oil & pastel on board 116 × 175

cm

Wind: WNW 4-5

58

59

NOTES

60

21 | 01 | 2020

Sand everywhere!

12 | 08 | 2019

25 | 06 | 2019

Rolling and painting, Skerryvore Lighthouse

My painting shortly before it got seasoned in the Corryvreckan whirpool

61

2020 MULL OF KINTYRE IONA BARRA VATERSAY ISLAY

13 | 01 | 2020

Location: Tangy

Wind: S 11

Heading down the Mull of Kintyre the sea grew whiter with every mile.

I had been making regular pilgrimages down here since the early 90’s with the same van but different boards. Surfing had pretty much carved every decision in my twenties, and as I drove today, a smile inwardly appeared at how preposterous I would have thought it wasting good waves to paint them.

Settling at an area known to the ‘boardies’ as the reef, I prepared. Close proximity to the van helped, as like landing a plane it was high risk getting finished canvases back inside.

The wind was coming cross-shore.

The tide remained pinned up against the beach, stuck till the gale passed or took interest in another direction. Dead kelp and grass mixed under my canvas, pressed in by warm coloured red rocks.

I felt safe but kept a watchful eye for unruly waves.

Pressure Dropping, Kintyre N° 31 Oil & pastel on board 116 × 122

cm

62

63

15 | 01 | 2020

Location: Gauldrons, Mull of Kintyre

Wind: SSW 9-10

The barometer had more ‘slipped’ than fallen, forecasting the imminent arrival of Storm Brendan. As Ireland started to disappear out of sight I placed extra stones in the bottom of the solvent and linseed jars. I was prepared for battle.

The Storm, Kintyre N° 32 Oil on board 122 × 175

cm

64

65

17 | 01 | 2020

Location: Iona

Advancing Squall, Iona N° 33 Oil & pastel on paper 29.5 × 41

cm

Wind: S 5-6

66

67

19 | 01 | 2020

Location: Borve, Isle of Barra

Wind: S 6-7

The weather blew a ‘casual’ Barra force 6–8. Wind is measured differently in these parts which are some of the breeziest in Europe. Little is discussed below a full gale, and when you hear the word ‘poor’ being modestly spoken, you can as good as forget Calmac and look to extend your stay on the island. I am yet to hear ‘terrible’.

With breaking swell on my mind, Donald suggested I head down to a beach just north of the Isle of Barra Hotel. On the far side of the white sand a large rock protruded, beak-like, into the sea, I was informed this was once used as a platform by the local priests. Here they would instruct the fishermen areas they could fish, church authorised. Maybe the priests will return after Brexit.

Priest Rock, Barra N° 34 Oil & pastel on board 44 × 44.5

cm

68

69

19 | 01 | 2020

Location: Isle of Barra

Tangasdale Beach, Barra N° 35 Oil & pastel on board 44 × 44.5

cm

Wind: S 6-8

70

19 | 01 | 2020

Location: Tangasdale Beach, Isle of Barra

Wind: S 6-8

71

The Burn, Barra N° 36 Oil & pastel on board 44 × 44.5

cm

20 | 01 | 2020

Location: Traigh Varlish, Vatersay

Large Seas, Vatersay N° 37 Oil & pastel on paper 42 × 59.5

cm

Wind: SW 6-8

72

20 | 01 | 2020

Location: Traigh Varlish, Vatersay

Wind: SW 6-8

73

Wee Study, Vatersay N° 38 Oil & pastel on board 15.8 × 20.5

cm

20 | 01 | 2020

Location: Vatersay

Traigh Varlish, Vatersay N° 39 Oil & pastel on board 61 × 128

cm

Wind: ————

74

75

23 | 01 | 2020

Location: Islay

Kilchiaran Bay, Islay N° 40 Oil & pastel on board 61 × 64

cm

Wind: SW 6

76

23 | 01 | 2020

Location: Islay

Wind: SW 6

77

Saligo Bay, Islay N° 41 Oil & pastel on board 44 × 44.5

cm

24 | 01 | 2020

Location: Islay

Lagavulin

N° 42 Oil on board 40 × 46

cm

Wind: ————

78

79

12 | 02 | 2020

Location: Dorus Mor Islands

Wind: ————

In 1993 a rare summer gale was blowing hard from the south. From the dining room window I watched the sun pick out the crests of the rollers.

“I’m glad there’s no trips today” I said to dad.

Shortly after, we got a callout. A yacht had broken her rudder and was being pulled towards the Corryvreckan. We grabbed Paul and headed out.

Before we cleared Ardno Point the seas were already building. By the Dorus Mor islands the tide had turned then dangerous, forcing us to reduce speed.

We brought the Sgarbh’s bow round into the big ones, which rolled green down the deck.

The radio was crackling away with transmissions between the casualty and Oban coastguard; we would be the first boat on scene.

The Rescue of Catunasanga N° 43 Pencil & oil on paper 29.5 × 41

cm

80

The yacht ‘Catunasanga’ was crewed by three Army officers. Rather like a duck with a broken leg she lurched uncontrollably, her flapping sails adding to the din.

The Corryvreckan was just a mile north, beckoning us in. Too rough to attempt manoeuvring alongside, we fired a linetrower, however, this one shot out like a big bird’s nest. With little choice and less time, dad skilfully brought the boats together, beams hitting hard damaging guardrails, but it gave us the moment needed to get a heavy line across. Made fast, we took her under tow to a small bay in the Lee of Jura.

The yacht was a participant in the Island’s Three Peaks Race. While under tow, Catunasanga’s skipper demanded we deliver them a further 20 miles north to Oban, so they could make repairs and rejoin the race. Dad answered accordingly in a manner unaccustomed to the ears of an Army officer. Later, when the weather settled, we took her to Crinan.

Dad received a letter of commendation from the Coastguard. In 1997 I officially joined and have been the station officer at Crinan ever since.

81

NOTES

01 | 02 | 2020

Painting Red Rock Beach, Here Jean and Andrew found my message in a bottle

15 | 01 | 2020

Keeping the work at bay

82

MESSAGE RECEIVED COLL TIREE

07 | 12 | 2019

Location: Ballevuillin Gale, Isle of Tiree

Wind: W 8-9

The ferry churned up the black water unnoticably as she pulled away from Oban Pier. It was far too early. With fingers cold and slow to react I drew the fishing boats below, one being Vervine.

We once got stuck alongside her for several nights in Mallaig during poor weather. I drew her then too.

I was finally retracing my messagesin-bottles. Sgarbh was at home in winter maintenance and even if she had been in commission, Tiree offered no safe waters for this time of year.

Kind friends had given me the use of their old family croft on the north of the island, looking over Gunna Sound. Road turned to track and then Machair, with the van scuffing its belly all the way. If I was ever to get ‘deep’, it would be here.

I could drain the ink from many pens in the description of the wonders of the croft, but I’d prefer to just drift through these memories and be grateful for fortunate circumstances.

Catriona’s Bottle, Tiree N° 44 Oil & pastel on board 94 × 122

cm

84

I received a message from Catriona, it was movie and curry night at the village hall. She had found my message in a bottle while beachcombing at Ballevuillin two years previously. As it later transpired, we had been at art school together in Aberdeen, our paths crossing there for a year. Catriona had lived on Tiree for some time, one of the early frontier windsurfers to discover the island’s endless beaches covering every point of the compass.

I anchored my equipment in a gully next to the beach. It was dreadful weather. Squalls gathered up behind one another, even the sea looked drier. I laboured to get anything to stick, punishing pale pastels whose soft lines had been made more for that of a delicate Degas dancer. However, as they splintered under my thumb, I found they had uses here too. I laughed while watching the streams of rain reverse the painting back into the palette. After several reapplications some pigment stuck, and with tissues I tried to mop up the pools of water so it was stable enough to get back up to the van.

After carrying the painting like a full tray of pints I slung it in the back. I must have stood there for an hour, freezing cold, slowly watching the marks dry and settle into the wood.

85

08 | 12 | 2019

Location: Tiree

Wind: SW 10-11

I was sharply awoken by the loud clang of a bell. Letting the imagination react would have been unwise, as I was already alone in an old croft, down a long track and in the middle of a winter gale. Forced intervention transpired, the building had an oversized ships bell on the gable end, and when the wind coughed loud enough it would ring.

I was out the door carefully navigating the soft machair well before daylight.

The van shuddered and slowed in the gusts while its shoddy Halfords wipers proved they where not made for rain.

The light was just starting to appear, also seemingly finding the long winters difficult. It back dropped a seascape of the likes I had not seen and certainly not painted.

Thick foam filled the air and covered the van, giving it the appearance of a poorly sheered sheep. Today only the black and tired basalt rock stopped the village of South Haynish being pushed further up the hill. Down on the shore the sand gasped for air between the waves and spray.

I could not but help thinking of a ship out there on this horrendous lee shore

Hurricane Force, Tiree N° 45 Oil & pastel on board 116 × 175

cm

86

and how far she could take the treatment of the now twenty foot seas. And what of Skerryvore, whose light was now unable to find a way through the water filled air? These thoughts were of ill health and not of use.

I layered up more as though preparing for a dive, checking for gaps and tightening all cuffs. With just my face showing I pilled in tea, chocolate and Coke to up my game before entering the ring.

Laughing giddily as one might before taking a dangerous selfie, I clamped my hands mechanically round the edges of the board and pulled it free of the van.

Holding just the corners I let it hum and flap as it tried to find a way to leave Tiree.

Stumbling down the beach I launched myself over it from the windward side.

Pinning the bugger down before starting to pull good sized rocks over all the edges.

The seas were now massive, flashing their green fronts before tripping and folding into huge sold tubes. A stinking dead seal that had been close by got clawed back off the beach, I watched in awe as the tide somehow pulled it back out through the waves.

Towards the end the sun broke through and scattered pink light into the maelstrom, exposing what looked to be an island on the horizon, however it too moved, slowly, steadily. I tracked the monster carefully. While closing full hands around my beloved brushes I moved further up the beach. I was left my painting. That was enough.

87

09 | 12 | 2019

Location: Balephetrish Bay, Isle of Tiree

The large bell on the side of the croft did not ring last night, a sure sign there was little wind left in Tiree’s giant bagpipe. The cold stone floor downstairs had me walking taller and breakfast was consumed in a series of gulps.

During the night the moon made the fleeces of dozens of sheep light up creating their own white shadow.

They performed like king penguins, joisting for the best spot in the lee of the building.

I met Mairi and her husband as planned at the North end of Balephetrish Bay. I deployed their message in a bottle during the winter of 2017 while sailing back from Barra. This bottle had no liking for the high seas and had made a hasty landfall where they soon discovered it.

Mairi’s Bottle, Tiree N° 46 Oil & pastel on board 122 × 166

cm

Wind: S 5

I described the day I chucked their bottle over the side. The boat being flanked by dolphins and how it had been the first break in the weather to cross the Minch and get her home in time for Christmas.

Soon I caught myself talking without stopping and realised I had not spoken for a couple of days. Nonetheless I continued, treasuring the moment. Incidentally this location was stunning. The rocks came in every colour with white sand dashed in between. The short machair grass was trimmed by the attentive sheep to a standard that even Trump would be satisfied with if it were on one of his golf courses.

We arranged to meet up again and then I slowly and methodically got on with the large canvas, while enjoying the kind weather. A squadron of swallows made several flybys. Swooping then stopping in their hundreds to eat the dead kelp. At times they created a dark squall but today I would hold off painting that one, as tomorrow a real storm was forecasted.

88

89

10 | 12 | 2019

Location: Milton Harbour, Tiree

Wind: S 10

At Milton the four local boats were safe now protected by the new pier. A short but brilliant warm glow had the landscape illuminated making the darkness following far more potent. The Co-Op bore resemblance to a food bank late in the day: still no bread or milk. Maybe the ferry would sail tomorrow.

Sheltering Fleet, Milton N° 47 Oil & pastel on board 54 × 122

cm

90

91

13 | 12 | 2019

Location: Balephetrish Bay, Isle of Tiree

Wind: SW 6

My poor old van lay abandoned in a pool of oil. After a week of heavy rain the sand along the track was starting to float, making each journey back to the croft a little more dodgy than the previous.

Last night a bottomless pothole punched a fist sized rock into the bottom of the engine’s sump.

I sat there in the dark and wondered if I had finally killed the van after 20 years of trusted service. Perhaps it was more fitting this happen in a field on Tiree rather than up in the Finnish Arctic, where the thing had been dragged before. Looking for help and with just one island phone number, I called Mairi the bottle finder.

Barra in the Distance from Balephetrish Bay, Tiree N° 48 Oil & pastel on board 96 × 122

cm

92

In the calm manner, the way that much is dealt with on the islands, the process of getting me up and running was already underway. Mairi’s cousin’s husband Seamus, was a mechanic.

He arrived with the sunshine the following day in a large white van. I brewed a flask of tea and fetched my sketch pad from the house. We blethered on many subjects, from his 6’8” stonemason grandfather to the island’s booming population in the summer. I took careful note of the extremely resourceful manner in which he shaped a piece of aluminium that covered the hole perfectly. Then a series of smaller holes were drilled, bolted and glued. Within 4 hours my van started on the first turn, now wearing a fine patch for the next mechanic who saw underneath. Seamus mentioned I should get the sump replaced on the mainland. Never! It would remind me there are still plenty of good people about and how a message in a bottle could fix even a van!

93

01 | 02 | 2020

Location: Coll

Wind: S 4-5

Earlier in November I had missed the chance to get over to Coll. Since then the ferry had been running less frequently than the Northern Lights. Large swell could still wrap around the leeward side of the island, making landings impossible.

There was sad news, Jean had lost her husband Andrew since he found my bottle in the winter of 2017. This seemed more than just a chance encounter and I felt a strong draw at all costs to make it out to Coll.

Andrew’s Bottle, Coll N° 49 Oil & pastel on paper 59.5 × 84

cm

94

The ferry rolled pig-like as Tobermory’s all lady choir sang to keep the cruel sickness distracted. As I watched my Calmac breakfast catch fat waves back and forth on the plate, the choir then ventured into frigid waters, with some versus of Celine Dion’s Titanic song.

I only had 20 hours, as I was informed the ferry would not be sailing after tomorrow. I confess, I was stormed out, tired of a winter chasing weather systems, the wind had finally gotten under my skin. Coll kindly offered up a dry afternoon.

Jean’s house was just a stone’s throw away. I returned after the brushes were finally put down, as if the closing of the season. There I relaxed, drank tea and enjoyed our exchange of stories.

95

BIOGRAPHY 1993– 1997

Gray’s School of Art, Aberdeen, Scotland, BA Hons Fine Art

2004– 2009

Lime Gallery, Glasgow

2001

Sotheby’s Auction House, Tel Aviv, Israel The Elizabeth Foundation For Arts, New York, US

SELECTED SOLO EXHIBITIONS 2020, 2018, 2013

The Scottish Gallery, Edinburgh

The Lighthouse, Glasgow The Roger Billcliffe Gallery, Glasgow

Nelimarkka Museum, Alajarvi, Finland 2012

Kupferdiebe Gallery, Hamburg, Germany

2011

Santa Cruz, Galapagos, Ecuador

2009

The Scottish Arts Club, Edinburgh

2004, 2005, 2007, 2009

R.G.I. Kelly Gallery, Glasgow

1997

PRIZES AND AWARDS

2014

Gallerie Biesenbach, Cologne, Germany Atom Gallery, London

RAR Gallery, Berlin, Germany

2012

Goldberg, Berlin, Germany

Goldberg, Berlin, Germany

Alajarvi, Finland

2011

‘The Galapagos Scholarship’, Galapagos, Ecuador

PUBLIC PRINTMAKERS WORKSHOPS 2012

Bethabien, Berlin, Germany Bilbo Arte, Bilbao, Spain

2013

Bet Low Trust, travel bursary, Arctic

2004– 2005

Oslo Printmakers, Norway

2007

The Conrad Award, Royal Society of Marine Artists, The Mall Galleries London

1996– 1997

Peacocks Printmakers, Aberdeen

2002

Latimer Award, Royal Scottish Academy of Arts, Edinburgh David Cargill Award, Royal Glasgow Institute of Fine Arts. Annual Show, Glasgow

2001

Sotheby’s Young Art International James Torrance Memorial Award, Royal Glasgow Institute of Fine Arts, Annual Show, Glasgow

Bunker, Bremen, Germany 2011

2013

2003, 2004, 2008, 2009

Lawrence Alkin Gallery, London 2013

Auschwitz Museum, Poland

Bet Low Trust, travel bursary, bottle finders, Caribbean

“14” Bermondsey, London

White Cube, London

2012– 2014

2014

SELECTED GROUP EXHIBITIONS 2015

Scottish Arts Club, Edinburgh

RESIDENCIES

1997

St. Fittick Prize for Printmaking, Gray’s School of Art, Aberdeen

SELECTED COLLECTIONS Grampian Health Art Trust, Scotland Paintings In Hospitals, Scotland

NOTES

97

12 | 08 | 2019

Painting out at Skerryvore Lighthouse

IMPRINT PUBLISHED BY THE SCOTTISH GALLERY TO COINCIDE WITH THE EXHIBITION: Ross Ryan The Log Book vol. 2 Batten Down The Hatches 29th April—30th May 2020 ARTIST ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Thanks to all at The Scottish Gallery for their hard work and for having me back. My thanks also to: Mum who continues to be an inspiration, Ann for holding a steady course, The Renton family for letting me stay at Port Ban and Jann and Alan who still continues to restore the Sgarbh.

From the islands: the Gordons, Donald, Mairi, Catriona and Jean.

Annette and Rodger for their continued support, the two Johnnies at Brien & Brown for beautiful frames, John McKenzie for art photography, Seamus for saving the van, Calmac and their fry-ups and friends and collectors whow help make it possible for me to continue painting.

And a special thanks to my old van that has seen me through 200,000 miles over twenty years, been dragged from the Arctic to the islands while stuffed with wet paintings and sheltering me from the elements.

CREDITS ISBN

978-1-912900-20-6

Photography

John McKenzie

Design

Gridworks.at

All rights reserved. No part of this catalogue may be reproduced in any form by print, photocopy or by any other means, without the permission of the copyright holders and of the publishers.

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THE

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CONTEMPORARY ART SINCE 1842