Maker's statement
The title (Tamnabhaigh in Gaelic) is the name of a location on the west coast of the Isle of Lewis, not far from where it morphs into the Isle of Harris. I first noticed the word on an Ordnance Survey map, two tiny squares indicating what might once have been dwellings, the remains of a small settlement, or maybe sheep enclosures. They sit close to the edge of the loch of the same name and this is the only point of access. No road leads there.
We used to have a small croft house in this part of Lewis. I learnt about the Highland Clearances and their devastating effect on this land and its people, and became more and more captivated by these names on maps that indicate a lost way of life and forgotten stories - remote, stony places whose names cling on, memorialised in print. This sense of history is echoed in footworn tracks winding into the far distance, often leading to places that no longer exist.
A few years before I made Tamanavay I had started a series of works exploring the book form, as a vessel, a volume, a container and compressor of memories. Some of the pieces I was making had been migrating from plinth or floor to climb the wall, lean, or be supported as this one was by a nail at the back of the very tip - it's amazing to see it in the 5&20 exhibition almost free standing. I wanted to bring together the idea of the forgotten histories of people and places with the image of a track fading towards a far destination; the structure grows from elements partly formed from press moulds of old books, which is evident from the edges of the pages, and then stretches upwards, becoming progressively thinner as this identity is lost, into an abstract, trailing form.
The stoneware from which Tamanavay was made in 2004 was my favoured clay, and the right material to reflect the Lewisian Gneiss that dominates the landscape of the area. The mottled blue grey of the surface also resonates with the theme, and offers more detail as you look closer.