I decided to work with some ideas that I had working with the clay beds that underlie the site itself. This is the base on which Golden cap stands. The clay beds are very soft in comparison to some of the rocks above and this is the reason why the site is so delicate.
I noticed that there were some redder stones lying on the beach and found that these contrasted well with the dark grey-blue of the clay. I started to build from the beach a line of stones that would be organic in nature. All this seems to echo the ancient life forms that are buried in the rocks here, as if they are still trying to communicate, and still, in a way, live.
While I was working on the sculpture it also began to feel like a frond of seaweed, and it forced itself to split into more than one branch. I also found that I could take it over some of the rocks that lay in the way making it more three dimensional.
All the time I was working on this sculpture I could hear small rocks falling from the cliff. I had never worked quite so near to the face of the cliff before and constantly noticed these little rock falls. The sounds of this falling debris made me feel slightly uneasy in the place, as if it were rejecting what I was doing, but I realised that what I could hear was erosion in progress. This is a slightly spooky thing to realise. These sounds are probably the reason why I stopped after a relatively short space of time
I decided to take some pictures and the best vantage point seemed to be some on a ledge about twenty feet up the cliff on a slip that was fairly old. I managed to climb up and found that the ground here is very wet indeed. I managed to take some photos while trembling (I’m not that good with heights at the best of times).
The whole ambience of the place today just underlines to me the total transience of the landscape and makes me want to honour each moment that I spend in it, knowing that it will never be quite the same again.