Attic log: Up North

End of August 2019, we travelled all the way from Oxford to Orkney, to visit our friend Bi. Our first stop on the way was The Hepworth Wakefield, which we wanted to see for quite a while. I was very happy to find that we would go past it anyway (well, almost)! We spent a whole afternoon there, and without any doubt more time would have been even better.

I have a friend who writes wonderful blogs about her way of seeing life(and the universe), all with a splendid focus on everyday events and related insights. She has (in my humble view) what I call the 'power of words'. She is great with photos, too. On her blog, she has 'Pictures', 'Words', and 'Posts' in different sections. Her words are powerful, and the 'posts' do not tend to include photos. In 'Pictures', the photos tell the story. Stories, pictures, words - she never fails to surprise me with something new, refreshing.

For me, as an almost 'compulsive' photographer, it's the photos which have to tell my story, and there are only a few words that I would want to add.

The building itself is impressive (Chipperfield - if you like him ...)

What I like as much as the building itself is how it finds its place in the surrounding.

Arriving feels a bit like approaching a ship.

It seems to be an inspiration for 'artistic recycling'.

Old industrial buildings are still residing opposite.

There's no stopping people from pursuing their own business.

Seeing the stunning and well curated exhibits by Barbara Hepworth, Henry Moore and other equally famous artists was good. And discovering things I hadn't expected was just brilliant.

Seeing this Howard Hodgkin rug when entering the gallery made me change my mind about rugs. How much I would love to have this one!

I loved the atmosphere and light in Wolfgang Laib's installation, consisting of lots of small rice mounts.

This sculpture on the floor, created by Tau Lewis, was touching. It felt like meeting someone. Perhaps like encountering the sadness caused by slavery.

I seem to remember that somewhere in the exhibition I read about Barbara that she felt like realising what she had dreamt of in her teenage years when she started to create drawings like this one. (Always prone to put my own interpretation into memories, admittedly!) It floats, yet has my favourite kind of focus in the two circles, red and grey.

Good bye, Hepworth Wakefield ...

From Wakefield, we moved on to Brora on the Scottish East Coast (after a good night's sleep in Dewsbury, a thoroughly disappointing town. Yet, we found a good place to stay for the night ...)

And NO. We didn't sleep in this house. Beautiful, isn't it?

We stayed in this shepherd's hut, put up by the owner of the beautiful house. This is 'glamping'. Not too bad, really!

Behind the beautiful house, we found a very old graveyard,

overseen by a little watch tower. In the 'olden days', after a death, someone would sit in this watch tower for three days for the wake.

The following morning, we went back to this graveyard, to chase light, and the memories of people we never met.

We had to say goodbye, in the morning light, to catch our ferry in Scrabster, which would take us to Stromness.

Arrival in Scrabster Harbour, and a bit of boat spotting after a good old-fashioned full breakfast at around noon. Recommended.

The ferry arrives. Vikings, here we come!

Goodbye, Scrabster.

Glorious sunshine. Neither too hot, nor too cold, and perfect lighting conditions. Oh, that feeling when you know you've got all you want. Just a fleeting moment. Never to return, so very precious.