The people of the now lost villages of Mull left behind enigmatic carvings of boats on their dwellings. This graffiti testifies to the importance of the sea for the community, both for making a living and for the leaving of the island during emigration. Coming across the carvings at Baliacrach I felt an instant and exhilarating connection with these people.

My response, Trì Snaoim (Three Knots), can be seen as a meditation on the continuity of traditions and beliefs in such an island community.

Maritime rituals abound on an island such as Mull and I was struck by the relationship between the story of the three-knotted string and Peter MacLean’s account of the three-knotted handkerchief. Peter ended his account with the words “this still happened after the Second World War”. The line of tradition stretches into the past, further than we can see, connecting the woman in 20th century Tobermory with the wise women of ancient times. Interestingly the people of Mull were once known as Na Doidegan (Witches). These wise women and their craft are further evoked by the use of human hair as thread. Hair is a potent material, powerful in its representation of the body. Here it is exquisitely stitched, at once seductive and yet shockingly human and intimate.

The number three carried symbolic meaning in pre-Christian societies (see the witch’s three knotted string) and continues to do so across many cultures, having been assimilated into Christianity as the doctrine of the Holy Trinity. A further connection between the people of Mull past and Mull present.

The work also hints at a link which has been somewhat eroded with the loss of the Gaelic language as the mother tongue of the Mull people. The inhabitants of the lost villages would have spoken the language between themselves and the witch’s three knots were given Gaelic names. Peter MacLean related his stories in Gaelic, choosing just the right words to convey meaning. The translation into English and back again signals the constantly evolving relationship between the two languages in Mull today.

Initially I was pointed in the direction of the boat graffiti at Baliacrach by Jean Whittaker and Lee Hendrick. At the same time I was taken with Ann MacKenzie’s book, Island Voices, from which the account of the three-knotted string is drawn. The words of Peter MacLean were also carried to me by Ann MacKenzie and transcribed by Dr Bill Clegg. These subjects were embroidered onto handkerchieves provided by Barbara White and Betty MacPhail using hair donated by Margo Bryce (the plait from her twelve-year-old head). Therefore I see this work as a group effort made possible only through the help and kindness of the community of Mull.

In Cairtean-puist à Muile (Postcards from Mull) I have chosen to spotlight some of the island’s lost villages which are frequently overlooked by contemporary postcard producers. Thinking about the postcard as a means of keeping in touch, particularly with scattered friends and family, I am reminded of the people who left these villages en masse during the 19th Century (ironically just as the postcard was put into service) for new lives abroad.

While exploring the archives upstairs at Mull Museum I came across several tinted photographic postcards of old Mull, mainly Tobermory. They are enchanting in their evocation of an idyllic time and place where the sky is always blue. The photographers sought the most picturesque views - not difficult on the Isle of Mull. Many such views remain relatively unchanged and adorn the postcards for sale in the shops of Tobermory today.

The picture postcard is a charming object, still nicer to receive than an email – a tangible greeting which lasts longer than a telephone call. It’s physicality lies rooted in the place it depicts, though it may travel far. Yet it remains an ephemeral artefact, inexpensive and throwaway. Throughout much of the 20th Century it served as the least elitist form of communication, less formal than a letter and cheaper than using the telephone. In this work the lowly postcard is elevated to the status of an artwork and placed on a gallery plinth for deeper contemplation.