Etching, is seeking something more elusive. He’s after mist and mizzle and haze and smirr and first light on unstill seas. Shorelines that sink below the horizon and spray that obscures the sky. He is happiest out on the water in a boat chartered for a week or more. Up at half past five, striking off from some tiny place such as Inishbofin — “the most beautiful little island” — off the coast of Connemara, the engine stilled, time to draw. “It’s my idea of bliss. And the boatman’s got a little gimbaled stove, you know? And he catches some fresh mackerel and he’s got some buns and a bit of garlic and butter and he makes a big pot of coffee …” He grins. “You can keep Torremolinos.” Then, in the evenings, “lobster, chips, pints of Guinness”.
Norman Ackroyd Artist
Published
How my heart sings 