Ephemeral work made outside, for and about a day, lies at the core of my art and its making must be kept private.

Abandoning the project was incredibly stressful after having gone through the process of building the room, installing the kiln, collecting the stones, sitting with the kiln day and night as it came to temperature, experiencing the failures.

I'm an artist living in a small, Scottish village. So one would expect to be treated with some sort of caution. And the village and the farmers have shown enormous tolerance of me and interest in what I do. I mean, they don't necessarily understand what I'm doing all the time. But they, you know, I think they respect what I do and that there is a connection between what they do with the land and what I do, you know, that we're both dependent on weather and respond to that.

I just see myself as an object in the final image. I know I'm experiencing it when I'm there working on it. I'm there to be worked with, as anything else that I work with.

Art for me is a form of nourishment. I need the land. I need it.

You must have something new in a landscape as well as something old, something that's dying and something that's being born.

The main source of my income is through the commissions of the large-scale works and big sculptures, the projects.