Yellowcraigs Beach
Finally, a return to old habits as we took a road trip to Yellowcraigs, with a picnic and camera kit, blanket and a book to waste a couple of hours on a favourite beach. It has been some time since we did this and we both had been feeling a little guilty about it, I think. There seem to be too many distractions.
The walk to the beach through the grassy dunes sets the mood quite nicely, as does the soundscape of children and families playing in this well-kept resort. The car parking machines are up to date so you can pay with your phone, as you can also pay the ice-cream man. What has the world come to?
From our chosen spot, we had a good view of Fidra and Stevenson’s first lighthouse. His cousin is said to have based the map of Treasure Island on Fidra, the author having been a frequent visitor to this beach. I took the courage to reach for a notebook and a pocket pack of new watercolours bought on a whim at TK Max on the way round the bypass, to sketch the island from where we had pitched ourselves. The photograph above was taken knee-deep in the cool water of Forth shore.
I am determined to sketch but lack the confidence of all these sketchnoters and en plein air urban artists; that’s not to say I’m not encouraged and inspired by what they do. As with my photography in recent years, I am finding real satisfaction in not doing it for anyone but myself. I try to capture, within my technical limitations, the feeling of a place or subject, rather than a soulless documenting of what they looked like. You can stop listing the differences between the photo and the sketch now.
Nature herself will not be beaten, of course. Any attempt at capturing emotion is likely to fail for there is nothing quite like being there. Having been there, in real life or in the imagination, allows the emotion to be triggered by an image. The beach grass here gives a sense of being in a safe place from which to observe the people beyond on the shore playing in the sunshine. Your response may be different, but that’s OK.
This quill put me in mind of the writers and artists that had frequented this place over many years; I felt a connection with them, reaching for the words, loading their brushes with water and pigment to capture the fugitive shapes in the water or sky.