Spynie Palace is a lovely castle ruin located about 3 miles north of Elgin. It was originally the palace of the Bishop of Moray in northeastern Scotland and apparently sat on a sea loch, providing direct access to safe anchorage at Lossiemouth. Today the village that surrounded the palace and the loch itself are gone. The remains sit on a small hill, the backside, which is heavily wooded, leads down to the extinct loch below. What remains today is a part of the tower house, built in the 16th century by Bishop David Stewart, as well as walls of the great hall, and parts of the southeast and northeast towers inhabited by barn owls. David’s Tower gives the visitor a sense of scale and size found in many medieval palaces. Although the outer walls remain, the inner floors are no longer in place though it is possible to reach the roof of the palace by walking along the edges of each floor.

I was impressed by this structure and spent several hours on different occasions walking around the site. I worked on several ideas, none of which came together with any great success. Elgin is not far from Nairn, the legendary home of Macbeth, Thane of Cawdor. Wandering around this palace Shakespeare’s Macbeth kept rambling through my mind. Although Shakespeare’s play has little to do with the actual history of this location it does haunt my mind when in northeast Scotland. Imagine my delight when I wandered into the basement of Spynie Palace and felt myself within a set of this play known as the “Scottish Play” to theatre folks.

I photographed the passageway leading to the basement, details of light skimming along stone, dark corridors leading to a hint of light in the distance. Above me was the ceiling of this basement, a completely intact, domed structure. One small window and a small artificial spotlight illuminated the texture of stones set on their edges to create this circular ceiling. It had a mysterious feeling to it. Although the witches of the play were brewing their concoction in the woods, I could easily imagine them crafting their sorcery in a cellar like this one. I worked and worked in this basement, not knowing which image would work, trusting my gut feeling that I had found a place that would give me an image for the project.

Later when editing for TOUCHSTONES, the image of this ceiling kept moving in the selection process. Pairing this image with Dunino Fairy Glen (Plate 23) made the most sense in the end. The well, a black round circle surrounded by gray stone, backlit by the light pouring through the woods has a light, airy feeling to it with only the center darkness providing any ambivalence in the image. The ceiling at Spynie Palace is a large black circle filling the frame. It has a light center surrounded by darkness falling off from the light on the right side. It feels like a dark and mysterious place, with very little light encroaching on it darkness. This pairing created an echo of composition, a playing off of forms and tonalities. In one you are looking down, in the other you are looking up. Neither completely explains itself and both create an air of mystery. One is a detail of the ceiling the other is a general view of the area. Yet when you look at the Dunino image you are drawn to the dark circle in the center of the frame. The ceiling image could almost be the vision you see as you look into the well of the first image.

Touchstones Plate 9: Chapter House, Elgin Cathedral, Elgin, Grampian

The passage of time – the wear of stone, carved by water, wind and human presence – is what I first saw in the Elgin Cathedral. This idea of time is an underlying thesis in much of my work in Scotland. Man builds, carves and decorates with stone. Time, weather and the presence of humans wear down the assembled stone. Much of what remains visible through history is built of stone. Yet even these massive stone monuments fall into ruin with the passage of time.

The first Elgin Cathedral (built in the 13th century) was burned down by the Wolf of Badenoch (a.k.a. Alexander Stewart, son of King Robert II of Scotland). It was rebuilt and expanded over the next two centuries. During the Reformation it was abandoned and gradually fell into ruin. During the 19th century some attempts were made to restore and preserve the building. Today the footprint of the cathedral is plainly visible although only the entrance with its two attached towers, a portion of the west tower and the Chapter house remain. I was most interested in the latter, one of only two remaining in Scotland today.

The Chapter house roof is intact, with large windows filling the octagonal room with light. It is a bright space and must have been a pleasant place to conduct the business of the church. There are benches built into the walls, surrounded by carved mortuary symbols, the kind you find on tombstones. For several days I worked in and around this cathedral photographing the entrance, the towers and the Chapter house, trying to figure out what was calling to me in this space.

I wondered what the space was like 500 years ago when the monks and priests conducted the rituals of the church. What a long time ago that was. And yet the cathedral was only in use for a relatively short time, maybe three to four hundred years. Time, the passage of time. How could I show this passage of time? The carvings on the tombs, the missing walls, the rubble that remains – they all imply the passing of time. On my way out of the Chapter house I noticed a small alcove off to the left, another small dark room with only a tiny window for light. It wasn’t the room, however, that caught my eye – it was the threshold into the room.

I didn’t have a flight of steps similar to Evan’s famous “Sea of Steps” image but I had one worn down lintel. I got down on the floor and looked at the step from ground level. Here was my photograph of Elgin Cathedral. I placed the 5×12 camera on the floor with a normal (300mm) lens, focused and calculated the exposure. I made several exposures because people walked through the image (although none left a ghost presence).

Here was an image of the passage of time. The hardness of the lintel was worn down by the feet of untold monks, creating a soft curve of stone on top, the face of the stone manifested with marks like some ancient hieroglyphics. The passage of time made visible.

Touchstones Plate 12: St Magnus Cathedral (side aisle), Kirkwall, Mainland, Orkney

The first photography class I took was based on John Szarkowski’s Looking at Photographs. For this book, an overview of the history of photography, Szarkowski selected images from the Museum of Modern Art collection. On one side of the page is a short bio and history about the photographer and the work, and on the opposing page is the image. Grudgingly I spent time looking at and learning about the photographs. At the time I had no idea how profound this approach to photography was when I began making my own images I realized that my exposure to the historical “greats” had opened my eyes.

It was in this class that I fell in love with the work of Eugene Atget and Fredrick Evans. Evans’ image in the book is a forest image that is more about space than trees. During the Christmas break the Philadelphia Museum of Art hosted a Fredrick Evans show. I went to the museum expecting to walk through the gallery, see the work and then move on. Instead I was stunned and mesmerized by his photographs of cathedrals. I had never seen anything like it. The 8×10 platinum/palladium prints not only showed me what the space looked like but what it felt like. In fact, the work was (again) about space, and not about stone. I spent at hours looking at and absorbing these images. I had lunch and came back and spent more time looking at them. The closest I can describe the experience is to say that the images resonated with me – or I with them. It will come as no surprise that Fredrick Evans has been a major influence on my work.

Imagine my delight, then, to discover a medieval cathedral in Kirkwall, Orkney. I felt like I had walked into a Fredrick Evans photograph. The construction of the St. Magnus Cathedral began in 1137 and its style appears to have been influenced by the design of the Dunfermline and Durham Cathedrals. It is thought that some of the stonemasons from these two churches were among the early stonemasons to work on the St. Magnus Cathedral. When I entered St. Magnus for the first time I felt as if I was visiting someplace I had been before. Fredrick Evans had photographed in the Durham Cathedral and with the similarities between the structures this probably contributed to my feelings of familiarity. But it was something more, an internal recognition of some kind. I knew this space and couldn’t wait to begin photographing. On the first trip I made only a few images but on every trip to Orkney since then, I have spent at least one day working inside the cathedral. I am always finding new ways to see this space. The administrators who manage the building are kind, supportive and understanding. Each visit they have allowed me to stay as long as I like and to make as many images as I want.

Touchstones Plate 27: Click Mill, Dounby, Mainland, Orkney

The Dounby Click Mill (plate 27) is a small, restored Norse era gristmill. It has a horizontal wheel and is the last of its type found in Orkney. (Though several similar mills can be found in the Hebrides.) It sits in the middle of the field and is only by a quarter-mile footpath. The mill itself is very small inside and the interior is illuminated by light from the doorway and a small skylight.

The day I made the trip was rainy so I began working inside. Soon tiring of the cramped conditions I went outside, facing the drizzle to look around. My philosophy about photography is simple: it is 99% perspiration and 1% inspirations. Each day I set myself a goal of how many images I need to make and when I am at a location I work it. I try to think cinematically, overall, middle distance, and detail. This image serves as both an overall and a detail image. It is an overall image of the streambed that once provided water to power the mill and at the same time is a detail of the greater landscape. It could have been paired with plate 12 as a “compare and contrast” layout in TOUCHSTONES, although it wasn’t. The click mill image is softer on the edges, with the lines gently leading the eye to the dark hole (or tunnel) in the center of the image. There is this wonderful “v” shape of rocks in the foreground. Like Plate 12 the center of the image is a pattern of stone, but the stone in the base of the streambed doesn’t have the sharp lines of delineation found in the patterned floor of the cathedral. It goes from lighter edges to a darker center. Both images are full of patterns and shapes. But they are also about the space within the frame. In both images there is a path or trail leading you to something in the background.

Touchstones Plate 19: St. Clement’s Church (Celtic Crucifix), Rodel, Harris, Western Isles

St Clement’s Church in Rodel is located at the very southern tip of the Isle of Harris. It is a classic small cruciform church with north and south transepts, the nave located at the western end and the choir at the eastern end. Under its roof are some of the finest medieval wall tombs in Scotland. The chief of the Macleod clan of Harris built the church in the early 16th century and his descendent, Alexander Macleod, rebuilt it in 1758 after its destruction during the Protestant Reformation.

While photographing the Calanais sites on Lewis, my friend and advisor on all things involving the Western Isles Ian Wilson, suggested we take a day trip to Rodel. He knew of my love of photographing ecclesiastical structures and thought I might find this small church interesting. And it was. I spent the better part of the day working in and around the small building on that first trip and returned each time I returned to Lewis and Harris. While inside working a group of scholarly-looking tourists entered and began examining the wall tombs of the Harris Clan chiefs. It was interesting listening to their speculations as they tried to work out the meanings of the carvings along the wall. It also got me thinking about the language in the stone. The carvings on the tombs and slabs appear obvious in meaning – but are they? What is the significance of the skull with a jawbone, versus the skull without one? What do the other symbols actually mean? Have we lost the ability or the vocabulary to “read” these stone carvings?

Set on the sill in the window of the church is a Celtic crucifix, something I’d never seen before or since. We are all familiar with the Celtic cross – a cross with a circle surrounding the junction of the vertical and horizontal arms. Many of us grew up with this symbol in the Presbyterian Church. The surprise is the carving of the figure of Christ hanging on the cross. It seems an obvious layering of symbols as one culture appropriates another culture’s symbols and layers on its own. Is it that simple?

The recognition of the layering of symbols was a turning point for me as I began to look at all I was photographing in Scotland in a different light. Aerial photographs of the main site at Calanais show that these stones form almost an exact Celtic cross. They are set in a north, south, east, and west alignment with a circle of stones around the center where the two arms cross. Clearly the symbol of the cross and circle existed in these islands thousands of years before Christianity was brought to its shores. My guess is that when Christianity arrived in Scotland the Celtic cross already existed as a powerful symbol. It was similar enough to the traditional cross that it became incorporated into the liturgy of symbols of the new religion. It was a comfortable symbol to the inhabitants of the islands and highlands. The symbol became a Christian symbol when the figure of Christ was placed on the early symbol. When the upheaval of the Protestant reformation came in 1560, the Christ figure was removed from the Celtic cross and the Celtic cross became the symbol for the new form of Christianity. Interestingly, removing the Christ figure reverted the cross back to the original form and imbued it with a new meaning.

Touchstones Plate 13: St Clement’s Church, Rodel, Harris, Western Isles

In the north transept of the same church are five tomb slabs that stand like sentinels against the wall. Illuminated by a small window at the end of the north wall four appear to be medieval tombstones removed from the floor of the church and the fifth is an 18th century tombstone brought in from the graveyard. Four have carvings of knight’s swords and symbols as well as letters cover the fifth stone. It is the six symbols on this one that interested me. The first I cant make out, then comes a skull and hourglass, and on the bottom row are crossed bones, a bell (?) and what appear as spades of peat shovels. I can describe these symbols but I can’t “read” them. Perhaps the illiterate farmers and fishermen of the 17th and 18th centuries would have readily read these symbols and understood who this person was and what was important to remember of this person’s life.

There I stood, staring at a blending of cultures, a blending of symbols. I made the photographs. They remained throughout the editing process for TOUCHSTONES because I liked the images, in and of themselves, and because of the questions they brought to mind. I still look at these symbols and wonder.