Skye

This island, in what feels like the end of the earth, is more like a series of promontories connected in the middle. Replete with distant white dotted, dark mountains, sand mountains, rock mountains and green mountains, its geology laid bare in so many shades of cropped vegetation, cut through by waterfalls. The houses, little white bunkers with walls a meter thick are quiet and isolated. The castle's stone facades cracked jigsaw puzzles, lines snaking up their defensive walls. Whales and buzzards and big black flies - its wildlife. It is too big and too small. Single lane roads yield every few minutes and hundred yards. Miles take hours. Nothing is there and nothing is open. The land has slipped and bogged and is de-tree-ed.

Six hundred thousand tourists descend on Skye every year to experience this rare landscape - its stunning cliffs and rocks and waterfalls. What they are also experiencing is 115,000 sheep. The agribusiness that eats the land raw exposing its geology to the wind and water that is constantly carving and calving it. Fissures and troughs and falls of coca cola colored water flashing flood into the Minch. 

The photographs made in this place will be assembled into a handmade Artist book. It will be printed on sheeps wool paper, and illuminated with platinum: two of Skye’s natural resources, one abundant, one rare.  It is bound with wool thread and packaged in carded wool in a presentation box of Hebridean Tweed.