When studying art at Bretton Hall in West Yorkshire, between 1989 to 1992, the atmosphere of the grounds, parkland and surrounding landscape made a deep and lasting impression on me.
Our studios were in the 18th century sandstone mansion house which overlooks the ornate lakes formed from the river that flows through the valley. It became habitual to leave the studio and explore the extensive ornamental grounds with its follies, grottoes, shelters, classical architecture, decorative shrubs and trees, and sculptures by artists including Hepworth and Moore. The outside gallery within the estate with its bijou information kiosk felt then like a modest and best kept secret, it has now, of course, developed into a world famous sculpture park.
A significant part of this experience came to include the landscape of the Peak District.
Having already been transfixed by this for some years (through formative camping and hiking trips as a teenager), the many field trips undertaken to the Peaks during those art student years at Bretton, exploring and drawing in the North Derbyshire and Staffordshire Moorlands, has led to a lifetime of endless fascination.
Being originally from Staffordshire, to the south of the Peaks, and studying in Yorkshire to the north, it feels like the Peaks have formed the heart of my experience of the great outdoors.
And yet, because of a childhood spent in the county town of Stafford, my initial exposure was to the topography of Cannock Chase. At a small age, the Chase appeared as a wonderful and slightly frightening endless terrain of heathland, ancient forest, the occasional small mysterious lake and the wandering Sher Brook, winding down a picturesque valley. Every now and then you would discover remnants, ranging from an ice age boulder to crumbling concrete ruins from the second world war. A landscape of skylarks, fallow deer, adders and countless myths and legends.
These young impressions were punctuated every summer by long crepuscular car journeys. Waking up to the revelation of a new sensation; a big blue sky, a craggy shoreline, a hidden cove, vast moorland, a glacial lake, foreboding mountains or a disquieting forest of tall pines.
This eventually led to an enchantment with the fells and valleys of Cumbria.
A rucksack and a tent. A train from Stafford up to Oxenholme. Change to a single line carriage to Windermere. A short bus ride through to Ambleside. A hike to Grasmere. Then, up over the fells and down into a glorious long valley. Eventually, Langdale. Pitch the tent. Pub. Sleep.
Waking under canvas and then out to explore such local wonders as Harrisons Stickle, Great Gable or Scafell.
Throughout all of this, along with the seemingly natural elements; the tors, edges, caves, outcrops, in intimate secluded valleys or under large skies in wide open spaces, there has always been a profound fascination with the things that have been left behind in these often isolated locations. I am repeatedly drawn to the standing stones, the ruins and aged earthworks, the aeonian signs of existence.
Part of this is undoubtedly a resonance from the quietude and remoteness in their locations. And many of these places, such as Arbor Low, Castlerigg, Stanton Moor, Mitchell’s Fold or The Nine Maidens of Boscaden, I return to regularly as part of my practice.