When I moved from the Czech Republic to Edinburgh in 2019 to study geology and physical geography, I struggled to feel a sense of belonging to any place. The home country I left behind felt too distant. My newly chosen home was not a home yet. Like a fish out of water, I was placeless. Longing to relate to someone or something, I knew I needed to get to know this unfamiliar country—but where to begin?
I first started sketching rocks and outcrops in my field notebooks as a compulsory part of my degree. Within these objective, scientific drawings, I saw something more. The hours I spent sitting in front of outcrops and trying to disentangle the geological relationships within them became more meaningful than just being educational. By understanding what the landscape was made of, I slowly found my place within it. The kindred spirit I was looking for turned out to be everywhere around me, hidden in plain sight. As I began learning more about the rocks of Scotland, I realised that they, too, were displaced. Their displacement was temporal: like lithological time capsules, rocks record stories from places which are long gone. They offered me a glimpse into a Scotland-that-was, into its past lives. Ancient Scotland, where some of the Earth’s first rocks formed. Underwater Scotland, sitting at the bottom of an ocean. Tropical Scotland, a home to coral reefs and sprawling swamp forests. Arid Scotland, baked in the unforgiving heat of a supercontinental desert. Fiery Scotland, where volcanoes announced the birth of the North Atlantic like fireworks. Frigid Scotland, held in the firm grasp of glaciers. All these ancient worlds mingled together to create the Scotland-that-is. A place full of places.
These mountains used to be an ocean floor. A sketch of Ben Lomond and the Southern Highlands.
It wasn’t long before I started sketching and painting rocks outside of university. Engaging with the land creatively makes me slow down. Instead of chasing the peaks, I stop in the glens. Stay still. Immerse myself in the landscape. I look at it carefully and experience all aspects of it. There is something new to discover every single time.
Opening of the Atlantic: these rocks formed during the youngest period of volcanism in Scotland around 60 million years ago. Gouache illustrations.
Today, my work is heavily influenced by vintage geological illustrations (particularly James Sowerby’s British Mineralogy), which were made during a time when taking a photograph was simply not an option. I want to bring some of this lost art into the contemporary world. An essential aspect of my practice is research: I usually spend a lot of time carefully observing the specimen or landscape and reading about it. The creative part is then relatively quick: knowing what I aim to capture, I lay down rapid yet carefully placed brushstrokes that bring the rock to life.
This process lets me explore my own connection to rocks and showcase the tales they tell about the land we live on. In winemaking, the term terroir is used to describe how climate, landscape, soil and tradition all contribute to the character of wine. I believe the same happens with landscapes, rocks and people: my terroir has been shaped by the Cretaceous marine sandstones of my hometown, the Carboniferous lavas of Edinburgh, the Silurian greywackes of Siccar Point, the Archaean gneisses of Assynt … Every rock I have encountered—with the ancient place it represents—is a part of my experience that creates my place-identity. Thanks to geology, I feel placefull.
Through my practice, I hope to invoke in others this same sense of wonder and appreciation for the inorganic parts of nature. Knowing the land through rocks reveals so much about ourselves and the places we live in. Rocks remember everything. If we slow down and pay attention, we can begin remembering our rocky origins.
A witness of change. This metamorphic rock from the Isle of Rùm has been moulded by time and pressure.
Schiehallion. This cross-section shows the folded rocks below the surface of the famous Munro.
It’s not just humans who build houses on top of rocks: this sketch of an outcrop in North Berwick is home to lichens.
Cover: A pencil field sketch of the Glencoul Thrust in Assynt.