ROSS RYAN Crinan to Catterline THE LOGBOOK VOL. 3
1 – 24 september 2022 ROSS RYAN Crinan to Catterline THE LOGBOOK VOL. 3
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The Scottish Gallery continues to follow Ross Ryan’s artistic practise, which combines his intimate knowledge and understanding of the west coast of Scotland, his life as a commercial skipper and his dedication as an artist. His life as a sailor was instilled in him by his father Nick Ryan and his art education at Gray’s School of Art in Aberdeen connects him to east of Scotland.
Last year, Ross sailed the longest passage he has made on the Sgarbh to date, which took in 1300 miles. His intention was to record his journey between his home in Crinan to Catterline which included a run to St Kilda and heading north rounding Cape Wrath. He then sailed along the north coast to Wick and from there down to Moray and eventually to Peterhead, where he moored Sgarbh and made his way to Catterline. The return voyage was the short cut back through the Caledonian Canal. On the following pages is a record of this voyage, of the people he met and the paintings he undertook both on land and from Sgarbh. He lays bare the weather conditions, his encounters with people, the places, the difficulties, the triumphs – of sometimes feeling alone, of feeling small whilst feeling an intense wonder at the landscape from sea or land. On some level, perhaps we are all Ross on the Sgarbh, making our own journey through life.
christina jansen, July 2022
FROM CRINAN TO CATTERLINE left: The route, Crinan to Catterline
5 I needed sea room, open water and time to breathe, unhindered by a surgical mask. Crinan to Catterline provided a voyage of 1300 miles neither my boat Sgarbh nor I had made before. I set off to Barra for a two week charter out to St Kilda. North of Loch Inver the long sea lochs of Kylesku, Laxford and Inchard provided shelter and exploration while waiting for winds to abate on the north coast of Scotland. During these 10 days I saw only one other yacht: I may as well have been in Greenland. With the final easing of easterlies, a rounding of Cape Wrath was made. I say rounding, as this became the turning point of the trip, a departure from a life cruising the west coast. The name ‘Wrath’ lends itself well to anxieties of the previous year, where all was done to make sure my charter business survived, after a summer wiped from the accounts. Here, art threw me a lifebelt. Along the north new painting grounds such as Durness and Bettyhill rolled by, visited the following winter in the van. An overnight stay at Thurso also woke up the old surfer in me. After John O’ Groats it was all south, Wick to the Moray coast. Arriving in Macduff brought the start of real fisher country, a town where I got to witness the 24 hour cycle of deep-sea fishermen from the deck of the boat. Then onto Fraserburgh, the UK’s biggest fishing port.
At Peterhead, Sgarbh was left securely from the weather. From here I reluctantly made my way down aboard the x 7 bus for the last few miles to TheCatterline.sailback to Crinan was made in haste. A shortcut through the Caledonian canal gave respite from the tide tables and forecasts. My partner Ann joined the boat in Oban, before the short leg down to Crinan. On my last day I awoke full of Covid. Slumped over the helm, Ann kept me going till we ghosted into Crinan. I waited for the harbour to empty of people, like an old sailor with a foreign disease. Later I slunk my way quietly up to the house to spend the next 3 weeks in Yes,bed.Iwanted to see the Sgarbh in Catterline bay, however what better a reason for another go.
Maybe the long way round?
FOREWORD
left: Ross sketching, Cape Wrath in the background, 2021
Ross Ryan, June 2022 FROM THE SKIPPER
ST KILDA 28/5/21
Ashore St Kilda Sgarbh at Stac Lee, St Kilda
6 On paper it would be hard to find a similarity between New York and St Kilda but after a day of looking up, you do. Every boat feels small out Jennythere.and
Sketching in the dinghy, off HandaGPS position, Cape Wrath
David were my charter guests for the first two weeks out of Barra, along with Donald. Boarding the night before in Eriskay we were under way with the arrival of light. 14 hours northwest it was a good run, but not the most comfortable.
St Kilda came long into sight before we stopped rolling. Like the false summits on a hill, it dragged on. The density of seabirds perforated the sky. Village Bay on Hirta offered sanctuary from most of the movement, welcomed by all on board. The last anchorage before the Americas, and it sure feels like it. Just your hook and chain keeping you on that continent.
7 Heating the dinner plate on the engine Fine day, Oldshoremore Fueling up, Kinlochbervie Bucket of lunch, HarrisUnwrapping Sgarbh Ann and Chutney pay a visit in Harris
8 cat. 1 | Sgarbh in the Shadow of St Kilda, 28/5/21 oil and pastel on board, 31 x 30 cm
10 cat. 2 | Waiting for the Tide, Cape Wrath, 29/5/21 pastel on paper, 28 x 28 cm
11 cat. 3 | Sgarbh Holed up in Berneray, North Uist, 29/5/21 oil and pastel on board, 30 x 34.5 cm
12 Sandwood Bay set back against a calm emerald green ocean. To the west, a long stretch to Newfoundland. Waves sounded their dying cry against the white shores, the surf would have been excellent today. Here is the last beach layby on the west of Scotland. An hours sail north of Kinlochbervie and within sight of Cape Wrath. I felt alone. The swell was 2 meters, but so smooth. Sgarbh fitted well between the troughs, like a small bottle. The wind was elsewhere. These days, with the arrival of smartphones, there are just too many forecasts. Time spent faffing for reception with hopeful screen shots was having a negative impact on the trip. Mixed in with tiredness it made for poor clarity. Only 10 years ago a forecast would have been jotted down in the logbook with their anticipated 4 hourly intervals. A bigger sea area would be covered so perhaps more of a variation, but you got the ‘yay’ or ‘nae’ gist of it. Less options, easier decisions. Now I looked for small windows, just enough calm to get me round the top, or here or there. Analysing, delaying, Todayanalysing.was none the different. The nerves where already there as I had not sailed round Cape Wrath and its reputation could almost be read in each letter. Departure had been early at 0500 to be in place to ‘round with the tide’, at the beginning when it was weak. 0900 at the Cape for a 1900 arrival at Scrabster had been my plan. The only chance I was getting before a week of strong easterly winds. I had made good passage from dropping my charter guest off on Barra 4 days previously, but the rush to get north and the large swell had me think again. When I was level with the lighthouse and saw the white line of tide, I brought her head round and steamed south for a ‘all I had’ fry-up as we drifted off Sandwood Bay. SANDWOOD BAY 29/5/21
HANDA 30/5/21 No fry-ups at Sandwood today, I was getting to Scrabster or it was back to Crinan. The light south-easterlies offered calm seas at the Cape. As instructed by the pilot book, and in a factual manner, I kept my three miles clear of the lighthouse to avoid tide and west going eddies. The point was black, wedge shaped and needed to be drawn. Speed was not reduced. By late afternoon and with Orkney in sight, the tide turned, as it always does. We punched it all the way into Scrabster harbour. Finally, Sgarbh and I were no longer west coasters.
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Unable to round the Cape and now pinned over on the west, the easterlies blew comfortably overhead, leaving a rare week of calm in the lee.
CAPE WRATH 5/6/21
From Lochinver to Kinlochbervie, 10 days were spent stoodging around in every corner that had enough water for the boat. To the south of Handa, Sgarbh had her own bay with good holding ground to match. Damn, it was even hot. As St Kilda, the island is home to tens of thousands of sea birds – everywhere guillemots and puffins shrieked and shrilled; it was their Glastonbury. I spent the day out sketching in the dinghy, in the thick of it. Engine off and just the scraping of the ink nib. The dinghy soon become a raft in a sea of birds. Stray skuas with sharp beaks waited like cruel guards for any small bird to turn a wing. I was curious the way sea birds just seemed to be bobbing around, not fishing, just floating, perhaps waiting for a place back up on the cliffs. I guess nothing really had to make sense for those few blissful hours, I was happy without answers.
14 cat. 4 | Seabirds off Handa Island, Sutherland, 30/5/21 ink on paper, 28 x 28 cm
15 cat. 5 | Guillemots and Puffins, Handa Island, Sutherland, 30/5/21 pastel on paper, 29.5 x 41.5 cm
16 cat. 6 | My Birthday, Achmelvich Beach, Sutherland, 4/6/21 ink and pastel on paper, 18.5 x 42 cm
17 cat. 7 | Cape Wrath in the Wake, 5/6/21 pastel on paper, 29.5 x 83 cm
18 cat. 8 | Rounding Cape Wrath, 5/6/21 pastel on board, 90 x 122 cm
MACDUFF 8/6/21
The run through the Pentland Firth to Wick had been without issue, with just the one night spent in Scrabster. Great care had been taken to pass Dunnet Head at the early start of the tide, even still there was 5 knots under the keel making a quick passage. The swell disappeared as soon as we rounded John O’ Groats. Officially on the east coast, we slipped into Wick harbour around The2200hrs.town lay low to the water, church spires piercing the horizon in an uncomfortable manner. Local fishermen had told me of less fortunate approaches. Easterly winds can make the harbour a treacherous entrance, with following seas and shallowing waters, this could be the most perilous part of a fishing trip. Here, even big trawlers could surf down waves burrowing their bows, broaching while exposing their vulnerable sides to the next wall of water. A monument in the harbour confirmed the tales.
rest and the novel company of an old surfing friend, a dawn start was made for the long traverse to the Moray coast. Tomorrow was not an option. The huge offshore windfarm required a 20-mile detour. Giant blades that could power a house for a day and night with just single turn, spun visible through all the wheelhouse windows. Again, the sea provided. At 6 knots we had good time to reminisce before the small lighthouse of Macduff harbour offered up an entrance. As I was to discover, and as in many of these big fishing ports, Sgarbh had people stop, and stare. Like something from the golden age of film her varnished hull hit the keys of past and present trawlermen. Tales of ‘chasing the herring’ perhaps coming to the surface, it was easy to forget she and sister boats crammed these harbours. The tight port turn and narrowing walls had me manoeuvre with great caution, nervous like a pilot’s first landing I called the harbour master while he directed me to her spot.
I eased off the throttle and spent a few days in Macduff, here was a place along my journey that could have comfortably been the destination.
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The all-night racket of manoeuvring boats and demanding gulls blended with ease into dreams that I had already had.
Sgarbh alongside Margareta II, Macduff
John, a Manx fisherman who often worked out of Crinan, was soon down setting us on a new course to the local pub, Mountain Dew. Inside time was set aside. I just listened and felt at ease, as the tide dropped rapidly in the surrounding pint Withglasses.adayto
Surrounded by massive fishing vessels, oil and gulls, I’d died and gone to heaven. ‘Fisherboys’ was landing a catch, engine grumbling like an old tenor. Ahead stores were being handballed down to the vast steel hull of ‘Aquarius’, while alongside ‘Margareta II’, an Oban boat, looked down at the Sgarbh as if she was a belligerent pup.
Chutney asleep in the wheelhouse
Chutney visiting the boatyard Robert working on Sgarbh’s seamsNephew Archie and friends, Thurso the Mountain Dew with John, Wick
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At
22 cat. 9 | Wee Sgarbh at Macduff, 8/6/21 oil and pastel on board, 100 x 140 cm
24 cat. 10 | Departing Wick Harbour, 8/6/21 charcoal on paper, 29.5 x 41.5 cm
25 cat. 11 | Marean, Whitehills, 9/6/21 oil and pastel on board, 30 x 34.5 cm
The sail from Fraserburgh to Peterhead was unpleasant and rough. A couple of fishermen in the Broch had informed me explicitly to give Rattray Head lighthouse a very wide berth. I was also warned of the hundreds of creel buoys on passage that disappear at high tide with the Exitingcurrent.Fraserburgh and on the starboard side a massive trawler lay broken on the rocks, I steered further out to sea. All advice from the locals was valid. Buoys appeared in the troughs of the waves, then disappeared menacingly in the peaks like dangerous old sea mines. I could not believe how many there were and what a constant hazard it must have been to passing propellers. An earlier plan to plough onto Aberdeen harbour was quickly binned with the arrival of green water coming over the bow. The accumulation of nearly a month aboard and the long legs alone had me exhausted. Sailing in new waters required more concentration, escalating risk. Pitching and rolling horribly off Peterhead I radioed the harbour master for permission to enter. There was confusion at first as he could not see Sgarbh, he soon replied, ‘are you the wee varnished boatie bouncing around to the north?’ I confirmed. I was allocated a berth but told to wait for a departing fishing boat. A big 80-footer came out the pen, showing her full stem when she met the swell. Passing close I marvelled at her, no doubt heading out for a week’s trip. Sgarbh must have looked quite a sight, a small relic of the past.
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The marina, away from the commercial port, offered calm. Tomorrow’s forecast was for more wind. There was little time left of my trip to wait for good weather. The boat was only 40 miles from Catterline. The following day and with a heavy heart I jumped on the bus to Aberdeen. There I visited my old Art School, now closed for summer. I sketched it, enjoying the still ground beneath me. Then it was the x 7 bus that took me to Catterline. The yellow fields of rapeseed had me thinking of Joan Eardley’s summer works, a different palette with the sea omitted. I walked down to the pier; the day now hot. I had never seen the bay in summer or without waves, it was impossible not to imagine the Sgarbh anchored there. Another attempt for Catterline was made the following day. I calculated 80 miles, 14 hours at the helm. Only a mile south of Peterhead we met swell, wind and tide, and it soon become apparent we’d have to come about and head back to the harbour. The next day it was all north, no more south. Sgarbh comfortably surfed the following seas all the way back round the headland and then onto WhenMacduff.wintercame round, I was back up in the van painting the battered village of Catterline. The bay, perilous now to anything that floated. However, I still pictured the Sgarbh anchored there on a calm summer day. Another attempt would be planned.
PETERHEAD 12/6/21
27 cat. 12 | Catterline, Arrival on the x7, 12/6/21 ink on paper, 29.5 x 41.5 cm
28 cat. 13 | Gray’s School of Art, Aberdeen, 12/6/21 ink on paper, 21 x 29.5 cm
29 cat. 14 | Sgarbh Alongside, Macduff, 14/6/21 ink and pastel on paper, 29.5 x 42 cm
30 cat. 15 | Rock Study, Catterline, 27/11/21 oil and pastel on cardboard, 52 x 71 cm
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Winter gales were late, but their accumulated ‘puff’ was building while I frantically rounded up stiff brushes and dried-up paints. Knee pads, survival suit, and head torch followed while the adrenalin tap was slowly opened. The old van was asked for one final season of service.
Even at 4 in the afternoon, the sky was black. Only the dirty white snow offered light. The road was familiar from the years of making my way to art school in the Northeast, though this time the rush was not for a party. Wet floor mats hurriedly laid down at the entrance of the service station somehow added to the building wind. People spoke nervously of the newly named storm as they lent forward and quickly made their way back to warm waiting cars. The night was spent by close friends, within calling distance of Catterline. Tomorrow would be a Arrivinghurricane.before the bellows had been pushed, a new swell rolled into the bay. Catterline welcomed the smooth waves up her beaches and over the rocks, as pebbles noisily danced in the receding water. With all my layers on, I dragged out the largest board from the van. Like grasping a pterodactyl by its wing tips, the huge board lurched frantically, crashing into the rocks in an effort to make flight with me firmly in its talons. With the board secured I laid out my tools, weighing down the palette with stones and selecting just the heaviest of brushes. To my right, death row awaited the soft pastels in an old sweet tin. The orchestra was assembled. A long pause came. The clutter of life that rang never ending was finally dialled down. Fingertips numb, but obedient, also waited. The snow filled air gave relief, pushing through my lungs. The moment was seasoned. The storm commenced. Hurricane forecast, Storm Arwen, yeah!
32 CATTERLINE, STORM ARWEN 27/11/21
33 Storm Barra tracked its way east. Colours deepening, and numbers spiralling on all forecasts. A resting Catterline was soon to be Withwoken.lessthan an hour of light, composition was set aside. A start was made right in the lee of Pudding Rock, just yards from the van. Relentlessly the sea curled round its base, clapping spray frantically as the waves reunited with their other half. Systematically salt and rain stole my painting. Wet pastels dissolved between the pebbles, with just their husk left as I clawed for every last ounce of pigment. Eventually though, with constant re-application a blur of colour formed under the film of water. The head torch picked up the tops of waves that were now close, I looked up between each stroke for the high Todayrollers.thewinter equinox was hell bent on dropping that final curtain early. The wind had veered, now completely on shore, with each set of waves noticeably building. I was excited, I had the best seat in the house. Two locals shouted from behind in concerned voices, before they headed back up the road with dogs in tow. Waves and darkness had the final say when the work was done. Sheltering behind the van I did my best to dry some of the water from the top of the board using the corner of tissues. I knew fine well when I drove back up out the bay’s steep banks the colours would run off. Neither could the van be left as the surge was now starting to come over the road. Soaked I scuttled back up to Catterline No.2 between the breaking waves. I slept soundly in Eardley’s old studio. CATTERLINE, STORM BARRA 7/12/21 Day after Storm Barra, Catterline Brutal weather, Catterline Catterline No. 2
34 cat. 16 | Storm Arwen, Catterline, 27/11/21 oil and pastel on board, 122 x 188 cm
36 cat. 17 | Catterline, 8/12/21 ink, oil and pastel on paper, 29.5 x 42 cm
37 cat. 18 | Pudding Rock, Catterline, 8/12/21 ink, oil and pastel on paper, 29.5 x 42 cm
38 cat. 19 | Storm Barra, Catterline, 7/12/21 oil and pastel on board, 116 x 122 cm
40 cat. 20 | Day after the Storm, Catterline, 8/12/21 oil and pastel on board, 56 x 122 cm
42 cat. 21 | Late Sunrise, Catterline, 9/12/21 oil on paper, 29.5 x 41.5 cm
43 cat. 22 | Light Study, Catterline, 9/12/21 oil on cardboard, 63 x 72 cm
44 cat. 23 | Tod Head Lighthouse, Catterline, 10/12/21 oil and pastel on board, 61 x 61 cm
cat. 24 | Poor Day, Pentland Firth, 12/12/21 oil and pastel on paper, 41.5 x 59 cm
The following morning the small carpark resembled an Andy Goldsworthy exhibit, with neatly placed boulders on the flat surface. Thank goodness I moved the van. Many of the cottages were still in darkness, with fragile powerlines recovering from the previous battering from Arwen.Thewind had abated but the swell was massive. Slow, thick, waves travelled far up the shore blocking many of the resident’s morning walk to Trelong Bay. The sky looked exhausted too, neither having the strength to rain or shine. Foam was literally everywhere, turning Catterline into a giant coke float. Childlike I veered in and out of the foam as I delayed what would be the perfect day painting. The foam offered a new dimension, a medium that was neither wet nor hard between the land and sea. It amassed on the shoreline as if it was covering up a poorly trimmed edge.
CATTERLINE 8/12/21 Foam feet, Catterline A van full, Catterline Perfect Catterline
The winter sun was welcomed on hands and face during the many tea breaks that were taken. When the tide came in the foam swallowed up my gear, coughing it out with bubbles and sand.
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47 Big Swell, Bagpipes, Caithness Sketching at the back of the cave, Whaligo Steps, Caithness Sgarbh in a very busy Fraserburgh
48 cat. 25 | Catterline Sunrise, Catterline, 6/1/22 oil on board, 35 x 65.5 cm
50 cat. 26 | New Moon, New Year, Catterline, 6/1/22 oil on cardboard, 24 x 35 cm
cat. 27 | Whaligoe Steps, Caithness, 8/1/22 oil and pastel on cardboard, 34.5 x 24 cm
I lay back in the brittle long grass and just stared upwards resting tired eyes. And then the green dance started in the night sky. The toil had been rewarded and my work began again.
CAITHNESS 9/1/22
The entire day was spent alone round at ‘Bagpipes’, the swell too large for surfers and no painters to compete against. The frost had hardened the ground, though the cool air had brought exceptional clarity. The Old Man of Hoy stood clear off the West of Orkney, you could have almost thrown a hoop round it.
52 cat. 28 | Northern Lights, Thurso, Caithness, 9/1/22 oil on paper, 29.5 x 41.5 cm
The swell was clean and a good 10 foot in the sets, the sea, like oil. The boulders that laid on the flat rocks were dusted with white sand. This had me in a fluster. If beaches, rocks, sea and sky were put on a table, I wouldn’t have been able to arrange a better still life. I pulled out the ‘van max’ size of board, a monster paint muncher. The early start had given ample time to draft out the lines. Dunnet Head took up the right side with Orkney sitting comfortable on the horizon. Having just driven from home all stores had been replenished with the luxury of plenty of fresh rags and solvent. The classics were lined up on the playlist.
Over confidence was abundant. By mid-afternoon, I was losing it. Kneeling in the middle of the board fighting already paint clad spaces. I even caught myself with my back to the view. Stanley blade and ruler were fetched as I cut the board in half, looking for any lead in this crumbling dam. Again, the knife was drawn cutting poor Orkney in two. Then it was dark. The board had gone from 7 foot to a mere mouse mat size. Exhausted and filthy the surrender was declared as I folded the boards into each other, at least to keep the van a little cleaner. 8 hrs and frozen.
54 cat. 29 | Flat Bagpipes to Old Man of Hoy, Caithness, 10/1/22 oil and pastel on board, 56 x 96.5 cm
56 cat. 30 | Pentland Firth over to Orkney, 11/1/22 oil on board, 45 x 62.5 cm
58 cat. 31 | Thurso East, Caithness, 11/1/22 oil on hardboard, 60 x 75 cm Thurso East is no doubt Scotland’s jewel for surfers. Throwing its lip over a couple hundred yards of flat Caithness slab. Surfing has remained my buzz word, though more air than action these days. However not so long ago, all was secondary to the ‘waves’. During the sail round Scotland a stop was made at Thurso on route through the Pentland Firth, allowing me to sail over the legendary break with Sgarbh. A new board was then ordered. A further 3 trips were made to Thurso during the winter. On the final visit a bright red surfboard arrived from Spain, highly polished and with the boat's logo printed on the underside. A somewhat pushed first date at Thurso East saw us back in early, with a board full of cracks and a broken toe. Cross and sore I immediately painted that wave.
THURSO 11/1/22
60 cat. 32 | Bay at the Back of the Ocean, Iona, 24/1/22 oil and pastel on board, 122 x 154 cm
62 cat. 33 | Lybster Harbour, Caithness, 12/1/22 oil on board, 45 x 62 cm
63 cat. 34 | Port Clacha Gael, Iona, 25/1/22 oil on canvas, 60 x 60 cm
64 cat. 35 | Looking North to Port Ban, Iona, 25/1/22 oil on board, 28 x 105 cm
66 cat. 36 | Pending Squall, Iona, 27/1/22 oil on board, 98.5 x 122 cm
68 cat. 37 | Squall, Iona, 27/1/22 oil on paper, 29.5 x 42 cm
69 cat. 38 | Cleat Gale, Barra, 7/2/22 oil and pastel on board, 58 x 85 cm
70 cat. 39 | Big, Bad, Barra, Blow, 8/2/22 oil and pastel on board, 122 x 188 cm
72 Today, the swell was deep. I had yet to see rollers this size on the island. I started to wonder how Sgarbh may have fared out there. Would the crests be above her masts? Was there a chance at all? More than once I had to discard the thought. ‘Priest Rock’ made a good steadfast to paint from. The machair sloped slightly down to the shore, reducing the chance of the wind prizing under the board. The sun made the occasional appearance while the blow pushed through putting contrast and exposure up to 10. The contents of small tubes of paint were soon joining forces to occupy the large battlefield. BARRA 8/2/22 Calmer days, Handa Big, Bad, Barra Burying equipment, Barra
73 My birthday sunset, sailing north to Kinlochbervie Tucked away, Iona At the Barra’van Sketching while underway Oldshoremore Small stacks near Durness
74 Several days passed without a ferry, again the Co-op shelves diminished. The intensity of the squalls and the hail they threw had the upper hand today. The half mile walk along the dunes was made several times. With each pass I buried my materials securely in the sand. My hands stung with cold. Snow melt blew up my sleeves and down the neck. The poor brushes struggled to hold any paint with bristles full of slush. BARRA 9/2/22 cat. 40 | Wild, Seal Bay, Barra, 9/2/22 oil and pastel on board, 122 x 90 cm
76 cat. 41 | Tangasdale, Barra, 11/2/22 oil on board, 76 x 87 cm
77 cat. 42 | Gut at Cleat, Barra, 12/2/22 oil on board, 46 x 57.5 cm
78 cat. 43 | The Rambling Rose, Crinan Boatyard, 5/3/22 oil on canvas, 76 x 76 cm
80 cat. 44 | Winter at Crinan Boatyard, 6/3/22 oil on canvas, 76 x 122 cm
82 cat. 45 | Oldshoremore, Kinlochbervie, 10/3/22 oil on canvas, 90 x 152 cm
84 cat. 46 | Sangomore, Durness, 11/3/22 oil on canvas, 83 x 83 cm
86 cat. 47 | Study Sangomore, Durness, 11/3/22 oil on board, 35.5 x 45.5 cm
87 cat. 48 | Sangobeg Beach Stack, Durness, 12/3/22 oil on canvas, 35.5 x 45.5 cm
88 cat. 49 | The Flit, 12/3/22 oil and pastel on board, 51 x 102 cm
90 cat. 50 | Endless Night, Thurso East, 13/3/22 oil on board, 30 x 30 cm
91 cat. 51 | Sgarbh Winter Maintenance, Crinan, 15/3/22 oil on canvas, 40 x 45.5 cm
92 cat. 52 | Small Rocky Beach, Hushinish, Harris, 23/3/22 oil on canvas, 40 x 45.5 cm
93 cat. 53 | Hushinish, Harris, 25/3/22 oil on canvas, 60 x 81 cm
94 cat. 54 | Tempest, 15/6/22 oil on board, 115 x 121 cm
‘RESTRICTED WATERS’ LOCK DOWN IN ARGYLL
97 cat. 55 | Kilmory Beach, January, 3/1/21 pen, oil and pastel on paper, 41.5 x 59 cm
98 cat. 56 | Just in Time, Kintyre, 3/1/21 oil and pastel on paper, 25 x 25 cm
99 cat. 57 | Carradale Fleet, 8/1/21 pen, oil and pastel on paper, 41.5 x 59 cm
100 cat. 58 | Reefs and Rocks at Tangy, Kintyre, 12/1/21 pastel on paper, 41.5 x 119 cm
102 cat. 59 | The Gauldrons, Kintyre, 12/1/21 pastel on paper, 41.5 x 59 cm
103 cat. 60 | Cormorant Rock, Kintyre, 12/1/21 pastel on paper, 41.5 x 59 cm
104 cat. 61 | Froth, Wave, Light, Kintyre, 17/1/21 oil and pastel on board, 41.5 x 59 cm
105 cat. 62 | The Reef, Kintyre, 6/2/21 oil and pastel on board, 34 x 60.5 cm
106 cat. 63 | Last Light, Kintyre to Ireland, 20/1/21 oil and pastel on paper, 84 x 119 cm
108 cat. 64 | Kintyre over to the Paps of Jura, 10/2/21 oil and pastel on paper, 59.5 x 84 cm
109 cat. 65 | Bellochantuy, with Gigha Astern, 19/3/21 oil and pastel on paper, 59.5 x 84 cm
The Scottish Gallery, Edinburgh, Scotland Nelimarkka Museum, Alajarvi, Finland Kupferdiebe Gallery, Hamburg, Germany Santa Cruz, Galapagos, Ecuador Gallery Herald, Bremen, Germany
2014
The Elizabeth Foundation for Arts, New York, United States
The Scottish Gallery, Edinburgh, Scotland
2013
2012
2004,
2011
SELECTED
1997
2011
Lawrence Alkin Gallery, London, England White Cube, London, England RAR Gallery, Berlin, Germany Goldberg, Berlin, Germany Bunker, Bremen, Germany Goldberg, Berlin, Germany 2009 Lime Gallery, Glasgow, Scotland
2015
Sotheby’s Auction House, Tel Aviv, Israel
1996
ROSS RYAN
2009
2013
The Roger Billcliffe Gallery, Glasgow, Scotland Philips Auction House, Edinburgh, Scotland Scottish Arts Club, Edinburgh, Scotland
2012
2001
2014
110 EDUCATION Gray’s School of Art, Aberdeen, Scotland, BA Hons Fine Art, 1993-1997 SELECTED SOLO EXHIBITIONS 2022 The Scottish Gallery, Edinburgh, Scotland 2020 The Scottish Gallery, Edinburgh, Scotland 2018
2001
2013
2001
The Lighthouse, Glasgow, Scotland
2015
The Scottish Arts Club, Edinburgh, Scotland 2005, 2007, 2009 R.G.I Kelly Gallery, Glasgow, Scotland GROUP EXHIBITIONS Gallerie Biesenbach, Cologne, Germany Atom Gallery, London, England 14, Bermondsey, London, England
2004,
2012
2010
2001
2014
111 PRIZES AND AWARDS 2014 Bet Low Trust, Travel bursary, bottle finders, Caribbean 2013 Bet Low Trust, Travel bursary, Arctic 2007 The Conway Award, Royal Society of Marine Artists, The Mall Galleries London 2002 Latimer Award, Royal Scottish Academy of Arts, Edinburgh 2002 David Cargill Award, Royal Glasgow Institute of Fine Arts. Annual show, Glasgow 2001 Sotheby’s Young Art International 2001, Sotheby’s New York and Tel Aviv 2001 James Torrance Memorial Award, Royal Glasgow Institute of Fine Arts, Annual show, Glasgow 1997 Finalist for Nobel Grossart Art Prize, Contemporary Centre of Art, Glasgow 1997 St. Fittick prize for Printmaking, Gray’s School of Art, Aberdeen 1997 Work commended at Aberdeen City Art Gallery 2012-2014RESIDENCIES Auschwitz Museum 2013 Alajarvi, Finland 2011 “The Galapagos Scholarship”, Galapagos, Ecuador Me on the new red board, Thurso East
Published by The Scottish Gallery for the exhibition Ross Ryan: Crinan to Catterline held at 16 Dundas Street from 1 t0 24 September 2022 Exhibition can be viewed online www.scottish-gallery.co.uk/rossryanat: isbn 978 1 912900 56 5 Artworks © Ross Ryan 2o22 Text © the authors 2022 Catalogue © The Scottish Gallery 2022 All rights PhotographyreservedbyJohn McKenzie Designed by James Brook, www.jamesbrook.net Printed by Pureprint cover image: Storm Arwen, Catterline, 27/11/21 oil and pastel on board, 122 x 188 cm (cat. 16) ARTIST ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS A big thanks to everyone at The Scottish Gallery, Brien and Brown framers and John McKenzie photography for all their hard work and support. My thanks also to the people I crossed paths with during the voyage who showed kindness and warmth. The Gordon family on Iona, Donald on Barra, Ann and Bridgette in Catterline, The Haslers, Alex at Thurso East and my partner Ann for being a rock throughout. And My trusted van which died on Skye after 20 years of service. ROSS RYAN Crinan to Catterline THE LOGBOOK VOL. 3 inside front cover: Plan of the Sgarbh, The Motor Boat and Yachting magazine, October 1948
