I have to understand the nature of change. And I cannot just work with stone or the more permanent materials. I need to work with leaves and ice and snow and mud and clay and water and the rising tide and the wind and all these.

Generally in New York, people just walk over you with no problem about that. Other countries, people want to resuscitate you, like, after a bit.

I'm very fortunate to be able to do what I do and live the way I do.

There are occasions when I have moved boulders, but I'm reluctant to, especially ones that have been rooted in a place for many years.

Sometimes you need to stop doing something to really see it afresh.

Nature, for me is raw and dangerous and difficult and beautiful and unnerving.

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.