Lewis Artists in Åland (2)

9 Jun 2009 in Outer Hebrides, Visual Arts & Crafts

Another Island

IAN STEPHEN continues his account of the Lewis artists’ foray to the Baltic

THERE’S A kind of a circle on a wall. A kind of halo of islands. You can’t tell where the gaps are. It would be difficult to navigate without local knowledge or electronic aids. Not impossible but tricky. This is a painting by Pive Toivonen. She lives in the former Pilot’s house on the island of Högsåra. Pive was one of the Island artists who showed at an Lanntair about a year ago.

The image reminds me of the view from the high lounge in the huge ferry that took Jon and me from Mariehamn to Turko – that’s from the town on Åland island to Finland’s second city. We were sleepy – up late after seeing the other Lewis artists and the an Lanntair director to the bus that would take them to the Stockholm ferry.

Mikko's studio (photo - Ian Stephen)

We were keen to continue the searoad movie that bit longer. Consolidate the links with the Finnish mainland and Island artists to our Hebridean one. That’s what took us to Turko and a vista that reminded me of all these Japanese prints. There are countless islands in this archipelago. That guy who’s slept on all Scottish islands over a certain size – he should come here. They would keep him out of mischief for a while.

Finnish names on quality tools in the hardware store are very like Japanese ones. I think Makitas are Japanese but they sound quite Finnish. And the asesthetics are similar. In the design-ware shop, the clean elegant lines remind you of an interior where raku pots can stand on the appropriate section of timber.

We are met in Turko by Mikko Paakkola who took part in the opening exhibition in the new an Lanntair. One of the themes was Baltic links. Mikko painted with Baltic mud – a metaphor for trade and ballast. He also sewed canvas from a Stornoway sail loft to join canvas from across the North Sea so the seam was a horizon in his paintings which were almost seascapes.

Now he’s painting on metal as well as canvas. But his interests and the techniques he uses to explore them have not changed much. We’ve gone from the tight family in a tiny flat to a basic studio in the basement of another block of flats and seen how one artist finds a way of making what he needs to make. With the support of his family. And in turn how the family make decisions which will work for all.

Painting party (photo - Ian Stephen)

One daughter leaves to get her connection to Helsinki to return to studies in Pairs. Mikko is helping to organize an exhibition – notes, footnotes and printing – so Kaise, his wife, gives us a tour of public and commercial galleries in Turko before we catch our bus.

The driver takes pity on us in the heavy rain and goes the extra kilometer from the crossroads to the ferry. Pive also thinks we might be bedraggled and takes her car across to meet us.

Somehow the plans to go on to Helsinki or go back to Koker to fish for perch – they all evaporate. We settle into a quiet household where days are filled with discussing future arts projects and walking the shorelines, looking to islands. We meet a couple from a neighbouring island who come to eat a dinner of elk, oven-baked in beer. Veronika is an actor and Adam is an artist from Poland who has made his home here. It seems that Polish and Hebridean humour is compatible.

Pive and Kyösti, her partner, are planning a voyage. They have bought a 37ft yacht, now in Sweden, and they will shortly sail her home. Of course we consider sailing projects and meetings at various lats and longs.

We take part in a painting party. This is how peats and fanks and so many things used to be done on Lewis. Pive is making coffee and sandwiches of rye bread and her brother’s best Hereford beef-ham. Big Jon and me find overalls and roll up sleeves. It’s a calm day though the pace is pretty steady. We scrape loose paint off this historic wooden pilot-house and we apply new breathable paint.

Pilot's house - detail (photo - Ian Stephen)

Pive is a bit shocked to find the new paint is buttermilk rather than white. It’s not her decision. She rents the house and it has to be painted to a plan that is historically authentic. It’s not so different a colour from the old sail loft in Stornoway. I own a house there but I still can’t choose the colour or type of paint.

Just before I left home I had to deliver tools and materials to a workshop I use at Benside, Lewis. It’s beside a house I used to part-own and a studio I developed with European grant aid. I watched a pile of discarded materials grow – sound timbers, some of them 2 years old and black guttering, some of it two years old, some of it 13 years old, replaced with new white shiny plastic. A wooden house, like a wooden boat is part of a way of life. It’s not the right choice for some people.

And that studio, with its own accommodation, would be ideal for maintaining exchanges like this. Returning hospitality. But it’s not mine any longer – part of the price of being free to move to my present house. And it’s not in public ownership.

It’s difficult to explain the pain from watching a material you’ve found or stipulated or fixed being ripped off when it doesn’t need renewing. That’s different from agreeing that the exposed gable ends need a low maintenance protection against Lewis gales. Now, being in the painting squad in Högsåra, assembled to care for the old pilot’s house – it’s like therapy.

The eaves are coated in white which has weathered like a raku pot. I photograph them before scraping and repainting. I feel for Jon, my team-mate on this adventure. He has put in an offer for a house and croft on Lewis and it’s been accepted. I sense he’s awake some nights. All I can say is that it might be good to be a bit pragmatic. Things you think are for your whole life might not be.

Jon has spread the remnants of Lewis peat ash, to stain a bleached elk horn. Shamanistic exchanges. I might make something of the photographs of the painted timber. But I know I’ve got to tell stories, in writing and try to make them bigger than my own experience but also quieter. There’s no escaping duty. Especially not on islands.