How can landscape inspire calligraphy?

I’m incredibly lucky to live in Fife, right on the east coast of Scotland. From my studio windows I can see over 20 miles out to sea. The constantly changing landscape is a reminder to me - as I work - of the changeability of creative pursuits and the seasons that we work within. Even within a single day, I have to be careful as to when I write. Am I too tired? Am I too distracted? In which case, I stop and wait; I look out to sea, and let the waters calm me.

I usually work in slots of about 2 hours with at least an hour’s break between. As I work, I write a few words and then stop, place the pen down and look out to sea. There is a rhythm in this process which feeds back into my creativity and possibly even drives me on to produce more.

The landscape on the Firth of Forth is not manicured and is a mixture of things, from post-industrial to wasteland, from cityscape to ancient dunes. I love to take a daily walk along the coast and remember where I am, to try my hardest to never take it for granted. Life changes so unexpectedly, sometimes violently, catastrophically. So, I try to remember that every day is an amazing opportunity.

I also draw gentle parallels between my Celtic script and the landscape. I have decided upon my chosen script and developed some variations on it, essentially building an entire full-time career from a single script. People may ask me if it ever gets boring. But it’s the same as the view outside: to the eyes of some, it seems the same every day, but it changes on a rolling rotation, season by season, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, nuance by nuance. Calligraphy is as delicate as the landscape. The way that I write my lettering is heavily informed by my mindset. I can look back on past calligraphy and quite literally ‘read’ the mood I am in. Nobody else can do it, because it is personal to me. My output is hardwired to my moods, to my psychology. And this makes it infinitely changing.

All of this reminds me that the creative spirit is a fickle wallflower of a thing. We are like reeds in the wind. My ability to form a career from what I love is largely due to practice and not giving up. In other words, consistency. But, when it really comes down to it, even consistency is a thing to be measured: my hands are not computer printers, but tools connected to a brain that goes through seasons, through responses to joy and pain, to routine and surprise. When I look out of my window, I see a different system of seasons - an altogether larger and more significant one than me - but it helps me to see who I am as an artist.

I may, then, not draw the landscape; I may not include waves and clouds in my commissions. But my work is heavily inspired by the coast here in Fife, and without it I do not believe that I would have attained what I have.