Fergus Hall

​​Program Note

Last year I walked along the most beautiful stretch of coastline I’d ever seen, amidst truly awful weather. I was there with a close friend as part of a creative residency. We had the place all to ourselves.

Enwrapped in full waterproofs, we tramped around taking pictures and recordings, pointing out to each other the remnants of a crab, a pile of shells, the flowing lines in the sand left by the tide, the outline of a curious seal watching us from beyond the waves.

I did not feel entirely myself. Following a bereavement some months earlier, feelings of grief would catch me off guard. It was a slow burn that came in irregular waves.

Despite the rain hitting me sideways, the expanse and motion of my surroundings were a gentle comfort that carried me along and left me free to feel whatever came to the surface as I splashed along, my friend somewhere just ahead of me.

Catching her up, we paused together on a rock, looking down on the grey water. It looked cold. I told her how I felt and she replied, ‘beaches have a funny way of reflecting your feelings back at you’.

We turned back so as to not be cut off by the tide. Beaches are always in motion, transient and impermanent.