Carmen Fyfe Art Works

Everyone has an opinion about art. There are the scholarly interpretations of the art historians, critics and municipal gallery curators, the business interests of commercial gallery owners, auction houses and art mandarins such as Charles Saatchi and the views of the art loving public. All of which are affected by fashion, whimsy and political trends.   Twenty years ago I was standing beside a professional employee of Paisley Museum and Art Gallery in front of a small still

Walking the dog across the south side of the town on a summer's evening, I glanced up at the old hospital. The smaller buildings had been converted into flats but the main hospital had lain empty for years. Although a fine example of Edwardian architecture in terms of function and aesthetics it was doomed. The windows were boarded up and had been spray painted by rival gangs. Fire and demolition were inevitable. I climbed the steps to the main entrance and looked through the

With tail-gate lifted and door slammed shut, the removal lorry lurched out of the courtyard and up the steep track to the narrow main road. I stood hidden for a moment, watching. The day before I’d said goodbye to the sheltering places: half submerged barns, haylofts, trees and dens. It was the end for West Glenshinnoch, an old farm my parents had rented since before I was born. The ROF wouldn’t sell it and even if they had my mother couldn’t afford to repair the damp east-fa

. Clara’s hen party was in Cotignac. The hens: Clara, two Sophies, Iona, Lindsay, Chloe, Alexandra and Fiona rented a villa with a small pool close to the village centre. The villa was owned by an elderly Spanish lady whose family left Spain and came to France during the Spanish Civil War. They did well and Madame, now 80, owns several properties; houses and shops in Cotignac. The girls poured off the Easyjet flight in high spirits. These high spirits continued. They often

Summer was gone. The vineyards were gold and russet, the terrace wet, the sky West of Scotland grey and the air chill. Peggy died that morning. Dear Peggy. A couple of years previously I had looked after her in her daughter's house in nearby Montfort sur Argens after she had fallen fracturing her arm and cutting her legs badly. An ex-colonial born in Africa where she lived until her husband’s retirement, we bonded over Doris Lessing, Muriel Spark and Karen Blixen. She was 92.

The centre of Arles has been untouched by late 20th century planners and architects and as a result it's busy enough to be interesting,

Over the following few weeks I produced, along with a few terrible failures, three works which, although poor, were not entirely shame-worth

The huge vaulted hall in the tiny Provençal village was unheated. the air temperature was around 7'C; perfect for champagne but too cold to sit. Last to arrive, seventeen people in coats and scarves turned and looked as I walked in so I hurriedly grabbed the only available chair. 'I've got those in my forest!' said the still almost beautiful woman much louder than was necessary for her immediate neighbours alone to hear. She was pointing to clusters of brilliant red berries

'We're thinking about having a little lunch party on Sunday. Can you do canapés for between 20 and 40?' Asked the expat documentary maker who spoke four languages, including French and Russian and lived in the village here in the Var. I had arrived alone in Provence five months previously and was desperate for any paid work. I said yes. My previous job, managing a sculpture business in Scotland, included hosting parties for potential clients. Laying on food for 40 I could d

Three inquisitive goats stood on the windowsill looking in at me as I wandered sleepily into the kitchen after a bad night. I'd slept in and feeling guilty, poured two mugs of coffee and took them outside. Mathilde the gardener was sitting on a wall staring at her phone and smoking. The goats were her pets and she brought them to work for company. She was a friendly woman in her forties whose sad and almost pretty face brightens readily when she sees you. The first day we met