I flew to Edinburgh Airport. It was cloudy most of the way, though I did get a glimpse of the peninsula where the Esk and Eden merge at the head of the Solway Firth. We came into land from north of Edinburgh descending over the Firth of Forth and Leith. I arrived on Tuesday to clear skies, and as at home parched ground with browning grass. It didn't feel like Scotland in late spring. SYHA Edinburgh Central had it's own tropical microclimate. A fine evening enjoying the views over Edinburgh from Calton Hill.
Joan Eardley A Sense of Place
Wednesday was a fresher, cloudier day. I walked to the Scottish Gallery of Modern Art following the River Leith through Dene Park for part of the way, and then amid the hotch-potch of architecture in Dene village. The river ran in an incised valley, below cliffs, passing under a high viaduct; the town houses of west central Edinburgh high up above it. Up to Dene Cemetery. I then reached the gallery, housed in two grand Victorian buildings either side of a road in a spacious area of greenery. The Joan Eardley was in building Two, which overlooked an expansive lawn with an installed light-text sculpture, There will be no miracles here.
Joan Eardley A Sense of Place
Wednesday was a fresher, cloudier day. I walked to the Scottish Gallery of Modern Art following the River Leith through Dene Park for part of the way, and then amid the hotch-potch of architecture in Dene village. The river ran in an incised valley, below cliffs, passing under a high viaduct; the town houses of west central Edinburgh high up above it. Up to Dene Cemetery. I then reached the gallery, housed in two grand Victorian buildings either side of a road in a spacious area of greenery. The Joan Eardley was in building Two, which overlooked an expansive lawn with an installed light-text sculpture, There will be no miracles here.
The Exhibition had been on since December and was now nearing the end of its run. This is a review I read earlier this year:
I agreed that this show deserved to travel further and wider, beyond Scotland and reach a larger audience. The focus on her work in Glasgow and Catterline, being no reason not to.
Sadly Eardley (1921-1963) died relatively young of breast cancer (younger than me now). She died shortly after being elected as a Fellow of the Scottish Royal Academy. Her painting, one of the seascapes was selected for their annual exhibition by her mother. Who knows what she could have gone on to achieve if she'd had more time.
While she was around , I was impressed with her prolific output of drawings and paintings, not to mention her stamina. Most of all in all her work at Catterline on the Fife coast where she’d invariably be out in blizzards and gales painting on the beach as the waves crashed in. Though I felt a kindred spirit when reading "she sometimes found sunny days a bore" and found her stormy seascapes at Catterline especially exciting, my stamina for the wind and cold is considerably less, and the natural instinct for self-preservation puts me off getting too close to rough seas. I noted that she painted Catterline in Winter, with cottages amid the snow set against a dark grey sky, in 1963. That was one of the hardest winters of 1963. Bear in mind, too that by then she would have been (unknowingly, likely) very unwell.
She painted in oils and drew in pastel and gouache. Pastel being ideal for brisk sketches in fast moving weather, such as the storm series of sketches made of a storm approaching over Catterline. In her later paintings (1960s) she added small amounts of collage: grasses in some of her Catterline paintings and sweet wrappers and newspaper cuttings to the Townend paintings.
The show was in five rooms, the content spread evenly between Glasgow and Catterline, beginning with her paintings and drawings of Glasgow tenement children painted in the 1950s. She had a studio in the Townend area of the city, one of the poorer areas, subsequently consumed by grand development schemes proposed from the late 1940s onwards. To me the pictures gave an impression of life being pretty basic, certainly compared today. Compared to today, too, I didn't think everyone looked well. Though the key issue of with the nude painting was women painting nude men was scandalous back then, what came across to me was how elderly and grail he looked, specially lying down. Her later Townend paintings were much more striking. As well there being more colour, they showed a real sense of personality in the children. She regularly drew members of the Samson family, 12 children.
Amid what I took to be unseasonably warm sunshine and exceptionally dry weather for the area, I took walks on Salisbury Crags and on Arthur’s Seat.
The Guardian - Review of the Joan Eardley Exhibition:
Joan Eardley: the forgotten artist who captured Scotland's life and soul
Sadly Eardley (1921-1963) died relatively young of breast cancer (younger than me now). She died shortly after being elected as a Fellow of the Scottish Royal Academy. Her painting, one of the seascapes was selected for their annual exhibition by her mother. Who knows what she could have gone on to achieve if she'd had more time.
While she was around , I was impressed with her prolific output of drawings and paintings, not to mention her stamina. Most of all in all her work at Catterline on the Fife coast where she’d invariably be out in blizzards and gales painting on the beach as the waves crashed in. Though I felt a kindred spirit when reading "she sometimes found sunny days a bore" and found her stormy seascapes at Catterline especially exciting, my stamina for the wind and cold is considerably less, and the natural instinct for self-preservation puts me off getting too close to rough seas. I noted that she painted Catterline in Winter, with cottages amid the snow set against a dark grey sky, in 1963. That was one of the hardest winters of 1963. Bear in mind, too that by then she would have been (unknowingly, likely) very unwell.
She painted in oils and drew in pastel and gouache. Pastel being ideal for brisk sketches in fast moving weather, such as the storm series of sketches made of a storm approaching over Catterline. In her later paintings (1960s) she added small amounts of collage: grasses in some of her Catterline paintings and sweet wrappers and newspaper cuttings to the Townend paintings.
The show was in five rooms, the content spread evenly between Glasgow and Catterline, beginning with her paintings and drawings of Glasgow tenement children painted in the 1950s. She had a studio in the Townend area of the city, one of the poorer areas, subsequently consumed by grand development schemes proposed from the late 1940s onwards. To me the pictures gave an impression of life being pretty basic, certainly compared today. Compared to today, too, I didn't think everyone looked well. Though the key issue of with the nude painting was women painting nude men was scandalous back then, what came across to me was how elderly and grail he looked, specially lying down. Her later Townend paintings were much more striking. As well there being more colour, they showed a real sense of personality in the children. She regularly drew members of the Samson family, 12 children.
Amid what I took to be unseasonably warm sunshine and exceptionally dry weather for the area, I took walks on Salisbury Crags and on Arthur’s Seat.
Recommended Reading:
1. Patrick Elliot and Anne Galastro, Joan Eardley A Sense of Place, National Galleries Scotland (2016) - published to accompany the exhibition, showing much of the work on display.
2. Fiona Pearson, Joan Eardley, National Galleries Scotland (2007) - overlaps with 1, also work from France and Italy.
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Leaving the gallery, it all having been very worthwhile, I walked back into the city centre. Had a late light lunch and then walked over to Holyrood Park and Salisbury Crags, by now sunny again.Before leaving on Thursday - Rucksack today full to the brim largely through cool northeasterlies back home making me believe it would be much cooler - I climbed up Arthur's Seat and looked down onto Salisbury Crags. Again sunny and clear, ground still parched. Would there be any water left in the rivers, Scottish ones included, come the end of the summer. Looking down on the path running along the top of the Crag, the paths looked to me like a network of dried up rivers in a desert. I sketched it, as people crowded onto Arthur's Seat above me, though the desert vibe didn't really come across.
