Quote: Scott Richardson-Read

The Cailleach is a primordial creation figure, our first ancestor. Her name is carved indelibly into our landscape. In our tales, she created the Western Isles, Loch Tay, Sliabh-na-Caillighe, and the Isle of Mull…. She is found at Beinna ‘Bhric in Lochaber; she keeps her cattle in a natural enclosure in Ardnamurchan in the Bathach na Caillich; she keeps sheep and goats in Buaile nan Drogh; she herds her deer and milks them in Glen Nevis; and her name is given to other breathtaking natural springs, lochs, and Munroes too numerous to mention. She creates the whirlpool of the Coire Bhreacain ( Corryvreckan, the Cauldron of the Plaid or Cauldron of the Speckled Seas) found between the islands of Jura and Mull because she is so massive no loch is big enough for her to wash her plaid in….The plaid eventually turns white, clean, and ready for winter. She created and shaped hills and Munros as she travelled across the country dropping stones from her apron….Beinn Naoimh (Ben Nevis, Holy Mountain) is one of her homes. Tales relate the snow encircling the Munro to the Cailleach’s petticoat and the long line of snow down her companion mountain to the beard of the Bodach. Her name, also given to spring storms today, demonstrates her abiding presence in our folk belief. We might have forgotten these stories, but the landscape does not forget.

Milldust and Dreaming Bread: Exploring Scottish Folk Belief and Folk Magic, Scott Richardson-Read, Cailleach’s Herbarium, 2025, p119

Quote: Karla Black

It’s not that material is the most important thing, that’s not true really, but as a way to try and explain it, I suppose sculpture is, at its best, or interests me the most, when it holds within itself the truth that the object is a fallacy. So in the material world, material is only ever flying together or flying apart, we know that. It’s just our little sort of limited human perception of time that makes us ever think that anything is an object, or is solid, or unchanging. So I was always trying and still am to get that truth in the work.

KARLA BLACK, in conversation with director of Fruitmarket Gallery in Edinburgh Fiona Bradley 2021

The power of waves

I’ve been watching videos of tsunamis this week. I just can’t seem to stop watching them. It’s fascinating how they mostly feel like massive swelling under the surface of the sea, as the displacement of water moves from earthquakes to shorelines. There’s something really uncanny about it, rather than a big crashing 50 foot wave. I’ve been watching and watching because there’s something in me that wanted to see huge waves rising up and engulfing land dramatically, but the tsunami films aren’t doing that, they’re showing the crushing inevitability as it creeps up. There’s a phenomenon where the water on a beach actually recedes before the tsunami reaches the shore, and it goes out fast, leaving areas of rock and so on exposed where they’re usually underwater. This and other phenomenon are known as natural warnings (as opposed to human monitoring). Another is that the sea looks foamy near the shore, like its filled with bubbles – because there is so much energy been created by the earthquake. It’s this energy which fascinates me, because its effects are inevitable once it has been unleashed.

I think this is a good way of thinking , of conceptualising what humans do on the planet, as if we can produce and produce and be busy busy busy and keep releasing more and more gasses into the atmosphere without realising consequence. The principle of ignoring this I’ve noticed in many areas of life. I think its a human flaw, a heuristic. For example if we pump lots of fuel or sewage into the ocean, there’s a tendency to think that the ocean is huge so our little amount doesn’t matter, it will be dissipated, but we do this over and over again until it can’t be absorbed any more. Or that if we destroy some area of biodiversity to create sterile housing estates, the nature will somehow ‘move’ to another area and survive, but we fail to realise that we’re doing this over and over again for generations, squeezing these areas more and more into non-existence, even if the nature could somehow ‘recover’ each time, which it can’t, the cumulative effect is large scale destruction.

Spiky skill sets and octopuses

I had a sudden realisation about spiky skill sets and the reasons that autistic people have problems recognising their own remarkable skills as anything other than ordinary (to them). I had this thought while thinking about octopuses, and their ability to go through tiny gaps because their bodies are unlike most other corporeal bodies.

So with a spiky skill set you might have wonderful talents in one thing, and on the other hand, difficulties with doing other things which are expected of you. Autistic people, for example, might have longer processing time for almost everything, because that’s the way our neurology works, but its likely to be more juicy at the end of it, or we might have bigger needs for resting, looking after our minds and bodies, or have stronger reactions to sensory things which make some activities stressful. So all of this translates into things you’re not skilled at, like multi tasking, or being in noisy environments while holding a meaningful conversation, etc.

But we are only human, and this is where I want to make my point. One way that autistic people mask is that we need, we yearn for, instinctively, like everyone else, acceptance in our tribe, support from our elders, safety in our social sphere. So when an autistic person in an ordinary circumstance displays a particular skill (say a natural eye for photography), they’re unlikely to get much attention about it. They’ll get a bit of interest, but no one seems amazed at just how weird this is. However, they will be picking up on an almost constant pressure, both overt and covert, to pull themselves up on their ‘deficiencies’. ‘Pull your socks up’, ‘just try harder’, ‘be more organised’, etc etc. So what the autistic person does (if they can) is begin to pull themselves towards this middle band of normalcy, because that’s the message they’re getting all the time. Pull that outlandish skill downwards, and pull up your own actions towards the band. Ignore your needs, learn to dissociate if you need to to in order to ‘function’ within that central band. The stress and strain of the pulling upwards is exhausting, and that is called masking. But the pulling down of your skills is also a form of masking.

And now I think its a bandwidth, or a spectrum issue. That the middle bandwidth literally cannot perceive of things outwith that spectrum. Like cats’ hearing. We humans just don’t hear a lot of the sounds which they do. And, actually, with animals, humans are so arrogant that we also don’t care about that actually, and assume intelligence is only something which looks just like us – (this is a whole other subject which some people are discussing right now).

Imagine, as a way for Autistic people to flourish, we had our own kind of autistic nursery, just for us. I don’t mean in a Brave New World kind of way, removed from our families, and obviously its bad news to start separating people out into types. But all this begins in early childhood. And I know this idea would be unpopular, because it’s generally considered ‘good’ for autistic kids to be exposed to the kids in the middle, to show them how it ‘should’ be done. But, in this nursery, the spikes would be understood, relieved and encouraged, and that would be accepted as their normal mode of being, so we would learn how to reach up to and enjoy those high spikes, and live with and respect, those low spikes. We wouldn’t spend all of our precious energy pulling them up and down to fit into this middle band we’ve been told over and over again is the superior, the proper place to be – ie the ‘norm’.

Quote: Thomas Flight & J F Martel

On Thomas Flight’s YouTube channel he describes a film by Werner Herzog ‘Cave of Forgotten Dreams’ about the prehistoric cave paintings in Chauvet, France, and an essay written by J F Martel about the film….

(Martel) In the images this prehistoric people bequeath to us we get a glimpse of something like a shared humanity but also we gaze into a stranger part of ourselves, something reaching to the depths. Seeing art made 30,000 years ago there is a striking sense of familiarity. There’s something in the very activity of creating art that feels instantly recognisably human, an impulse which remains within us despite such a vast passing of time and despite how much society has changed across that span. What we find looking at this art is the mystery of who these people painting these images were and why they painted them. It’s as if we discovered signs of alien life only to realise the aliens are us, that our own existence is just as mysterious and startling as anything else in the cosmos.

(Flight) Even if cannot know what these cave paintings mean, there is a profound and moving mystery in the question of their meaning itself. These images don’t just represent the existence of something or someone but self awareness of that existence. The existence of the art in the caves is existence expressing itself for other to see and hear. What we don’t often think about is that despite how much art has changed, despite all the technological advancement and scientific knowledge we’ve acquired since these cave painters first did their work, we are still caught in this mystery today. Art for us is still mysterious and true works of art still express the mystery of life itself. According to Martel art ” demands that we feel and think the mystery of our passage through this body, on this earth, in this universe” and “bears witness to the bafflement that the mere fact of existence elicits in our brains.”

YouTube – Thomas Flight ‘Why AI ‘Art’ Feels So Wrong, quoting from ‘Reclaiming Art in the Age of Artifice: A Treatise, Critique and Call to Action’, J.F. Martel, Evolve Editions, 2015

Quote: Clare Carlisle

The path…is a generative symbol for a life. Paths symbolise transmission as well as quest. A path is a tradition, a way through the world that has been carved and cultivated by those who have gone before, sustained by repetition. We bequeath it to future generations as we walk along it. Following a path means following other people (or maybe beings of other kinds), whether we actually see them on the path ahead or whether this path exists at all only because they once made, sustained and renewed it. If we look over our shoulder, we may realise that we too are being followed. Following – a complex act that encompasses desire, imitation, discipleship, faith, devotion – gives human lives their unique shapes, while linking them together.

Transcendence for Beginners, Clare Carlisle, Fitzcarraldo Editions, London, 2025

Quote: Edouard Glissant

… we need archipelagic thinking, which is one that opens, one that conforms diversity – one that is not made to obtain unity, but rather a new kind of Relation. One that trembles – physically, geologically, mentally, spiritually – because it seeks the point, that utopian point, at which all the cultures of the world, all the imagination of the world can meet and understand each other without being dispersed or lost.

Edouard Glissant in conversation with Hans Ulrich Obrist, from an article by Eliza Levinson in 032c https://032c.com/magazine/edouard-glissant-and-hans-ulrich-obrist

Quote: Edouard Glissant

The oppressed, who are denied their identity, understand what I am saying, because they have a conception of relational identity; a capacity to move beyond identity. The oppressors, however, don’t, because they are committed to a fixed identity – identity as a single root. The thinking of tremblement is this: even when I am fighting for my identity, I consider my identity not as the only possible identity in the world.

Edouard Glissant in conversation with Hans Ulrich Obrist, in an article by Eliza Levinson for 032c https://032c.com/magazine/edouard-glissant-and-hans-ulrich-obrist

Quote: Elizabeth Fraser

I think I’m also more interested in the way words sound and what you can do if you say words in different ways than in what the words actually mean. I can’t really say which authors or books have influenced me – I can never remember names – but it’s really just certain groups of words and the way they sound.

Fraser on how she created the lyrics for Cocteau Twins songs, using words and phrases in a tumbling, flow of consciousness way, rather than coherent sentences, yes still convey meaning and feeling through the power of music to do so.

Quote: Derek Jarman

The gardener digs in another time, without past or future, beginning or end. A time that does not cleave the day with rush hours, lunch breaks, the last bus home. As you walk in the garden you pass into this time – the moment of entering can never be remembered. Around you the landscape lies transfigured.

Modern Nature, 1991

Exhibition – Digging in Another Time: Derek Jarman’s Modern Nature – Huntarian Art Gallery, University of Glasgow, 2 November 2024 – 4 May 2025. Featuring work in response to Jarman by Sarah Wood, Matthew Arthur Williams, Thomas J Walker, Luke Fowler, Andrew Black.