Jenni Liandu 1
Calligrapher, Tayport
My first task, as the would be creator of a multi-media work of art, was to find and commission five [resident in Scotland] artisan artists, i.e. calligrapher, illustrator, bookbinder, weaver and woodcarver/box-maker. I got lucky, the same nephew who told me about Lisa’s baby, and who was vaguely aware of my project plans, called one day to inform me that whilst idly surfing the net, he’d chanced upon a professional calligrapher discussing and displaying their work, who just happened to live in the same village as me. A professional calligrapher living almost next door! I checked online and yes, there she was, one Jenni Liandu. I took down her number and phoned, we spoke, I explained both the nature of my project and my parameters regarding her work, before enquiring whether or not she would be willing to undertake a ridiculously tricky [due to the presence of both entirely made up by me words, and of scientific/theological jargon], 15,000 word text. Jenni, for whom a normal quota of words was more like 100-200, almost fainted. She asked for 24 hours in which to make up her mind, on the one hand feeling somewhat daunted by the enormity of the proposition, on the other hand feeling excited by the challenge/opportunity of creating such a giant-sized piece of calligraphic art.
The next day Jenni and I met for coffee, straight away she said yes to my project, a short time later we agreed upon a commission and shook hands. Jenni showed me examples of two calligraphy styles, i.e. Spencerian and Copperplate, and asked me to choose between them. The former I found spidery and almost entirely illegible, the latter I found just fine and dandy, unsurprisingly, I chose Copperplate. Jenni also showed me various calligraphic designs, and suggested that perhaps a few of them might serve some decorative purpose, and I agreed that they would. Then away Jenni went, to begin her search for vegan ink.
Jenni Liandu 2
Initially, Jenni had reckoned on approximately a year, as being the amount of time that she would require in order to copy out my text and to draw her designs. That was before lockdown, which slowed everything, and then Jenni caught covid, and then there were more delays, for all sorts of reasons, none of them anyone’s fault. In the end, Jenni took a little over two years to finish. She then sent the entirety of her work to Laura West [Two Wolves Project bookbinder]. Six months later, and I finally got to see Jenni’s art. I really liked what I saw, apart from the mistakes, of which there were quite a few! The vast majority of these mistakes were tiny, e.g. a missed dot on an I/a missed cross on a t, and were easily and invisibly corrected by Jenni. There were two mistakes, however, of a greater magnitude:
i] a picture/diagram on the wrong side of the page, thereby setting it apart from the text which, ideally, should be accompanying it.
ii] a small paragraph had been missed, which, whilst [fairly] easily re-inserted, would inevitably appear [just a tad] out of place.
Although at first I had been quite shocked to discover any errors whatsoever in Jenni’s work, upon reflection, I realised that such a viewpoint was extremely naive, given:
i] the mountainous volume of her work.
ii] the borderline incomprehensibility of my text. iii] that Jenni is not a machine.
Okay, so Jenni made an error or two, she also produced a huge amount of quite stunning artisan art. And when viewed in the wider context, I would suggest that Jenni’s very few and very human imperfections add to, rather than detract from, the overall aesthetic.
Nicola and Andrew
One day, before I had recruited anyone to my project, and had only just begun thinking about creating a book, I decided to investigate the world of fine-quality paper. A quick browse online and I came up with a name, R.K.BURT. I phoned [London if memory serves], asked if there was anyone available who might advise me upon the subject of fine quality paper, and was put through to Nicola. Who, for the next hour and a half, proceeded to provide me with a fine-quality paper education. Nicola was passionate about paper, knowledgeable about paper, friendly, helpful, and unstinting with her time, Nicola was quite something.
Almost as soon as I switched off my phone, I thought of more questions. By the next day I had a dozen, and whilst I realised that I was pushing my luck, I re-phoned R.K.BURT and asked for Nicola. It was Nicola’s day off, would I care to speak with her stand-in, whose name was Andrew? I gave it a go. Andrew, it soon transpired, was identical to Nicola. Equally passionate, equally knowledgeable, equally friendly, helpful and unstinting with his time, we spoke for an hour and a half. The only difference between Nicola and Andrew, was that Andrew promised to organise a dozen or so examples of fine-quality paper, and then send them to me free of charge. Which he did, and they arrived three days later.
Many thanks, and a tip of the hat in respect, to both Nicola and Andrew.
Mark Mechan 1
Illustrator, Glasgow
I found my calligrapher thanks to my nephew Joel, which worked out well, as it was my calligrapher who found my illustrator, one Mark Mechan. In the very early stages of my project, Lisa Scrimgeour [who at the time was underemployed] had been my illustrator, but then Lisa [whose tattoo/artist talent was fast becoming more and more sought after] began to become busy, very busy, and far too busy to be fiddling around with infinity, and that was that, I understood, and very much wished Lisa well. I needed someone new. Jenni discovered Mark through seeing some of his fantasy illustrations online, she then contacted him and arranged for herself, Mark and me to meet for coffee in the D.C.A [Dundee Contemporary Arts]. Mark was based in Glasgow, but every once in a while came through to Broughty Ferry to visit his mum, and as he and Jenni would be required to collaborate together fairly closely, this arrangement worked well.
Mark Mechan 2
At our three-person meet, I explained to Mark all about the Two Wolves Project, and then all about the multi media work of art, and then told him my parameters, as relating to his work. Mark raised a very obvious question, how on earth was he to depict infinity? I knew that this would be tricky, even Lisa had struggled. On the plus side, however, Mark would not have to start from scratch. Originally, I had drawn the nine pictures which accompany my 15,000 word theory of everything, and, being a 100% crap artist, had drawn them entirely as diagrams. These diagrams I had passed on to Lisa, who had made them more visually pleasing, and whilst they undoubtably required a lot more work, at least a base had been provided. Upon hearing this, Mark was considerably relieved, and after a few more minutes of chat, even became quite keen. We agreed upon a commission, shook hands, and off Mark went, to begin researching materials [to draw with] that were hardwearing, vegan and non-bleeding [i.e. not prone to seeping through one sheet of paper onto others].
Mark was the only one of the Two Wolves Project team who asked if he could read my theory of everything. I duly passed on a copy, which Mark duly perused, ‘Not the easiest of reads’, was his one and only comment. I didn’t press him, a more positive reaction would have been a major surprise. Theories of everything, by their very nature, are not meant to be easy reading.
Georgina Clackworthy 1
Weaver, Arbroath
Just as soon as I came across the Feather and Hay website, I knew that I had found my weaver. Mainly because :
i] I really liked Georgina’s magnificent name.
ii] I really liked Feather and Hay as a business title. iii] Georgina lived near Arbroath.
I phoned and we spoke [I was later to learn that phone calls were exceptional, Georgina much preferred email], I explained all about the Two Wolves Project, the multimedia work of art, and my parameters as regarding her work. Georgina was intrigued, what type of cloth did I want? A fair question, and one which only she could answer. All I could provide were dimensions, parameters and purpose [to wrap a book], everything else was up to her. Georgina liked the idea and we soon agreed a commission. Not long afterwards Georgina began her research, into cloth types, weave patterns and, as ever, what was and what was not, vegan.
Georgina Clackworthy 2
Georgina completed her piece of cloth in six months, and just as soon as she had done so, not trusting the post, she offered to deliver. I too mistrusted the post, but as Georgina was consistently busy and I was not, I decided to go and collect. I took a bus to Arbroath, then another bus to the middle of nowhere, and then walked for a mile and a half to a hamlet and a very quaint cottage. Georgina took me upstairs and showed me her looms, before revealing my [very approximately 48 inches by 48 inches], piece of cloth.
I thought that Georgina’s idea of one side white the other side black worked well, up close I liked the weave of the cloth, upon holding the piece of cloth, I reckoned that both thickness and weight were pretty much spot on for the task I had in mind. And then there was the softness, quite remarkable. Georgina also presented me with a white and black pouch [in which to keep the white and black metal key, to the white and black wooden box], and a white and black piece of cord [for tying the white and black piece of cloth, once it was wrapped around the white and black book]. I was touched. I promised to keep her informed about my project, and then re-traced my steps, now carrying my newly acquired prizes, all neatly wrapped by Georgina, which took a while….. An unusual sort of day.
Mike Whittal 1
Woodcarver, Turriff
There were two things that I liked about Mike’s website, the picture gallery of past creations, and the name Ochre and Wood. I phoned and we spoke [despite always being frantically busy, Mike always likes to chat], first off I explained about my project [by now I had my spiel more or less pat], then about my multi media work of art, and lastly about my parameters, as regarding his work. Mike had a worry, ‘Are you in a hurry?’ he enquired. Luckily for me I was not. I learnt very early on in my project [and mainly due to various covid lockdowns] that cultivation of unhurried patience was vital to my ongoing sanity. I had no fixed date by which my project must be finished, and so why be concerned by time passing? ‘Take just as long as you want’, I reassured him, knowing full well that this was by far and away my most effective method of persuasion. Mike was satisfied, we agreed a commission and that was that, I had found my woodcarver/ box maker.
Mike Whittal 2
Mike took a very long time to finish my box. Eventually, however,Mike’s work was done, he phones and offers to deliver his creation, not trusting the post. And as I don’t own a car, and as travel by train and/or bus to and from Turriff would be both exceedingly tricky and exceedingly long, I accepted his very kind offer.
A week or so later we met in the DCA, which was mobbed. However, by a combination of arriving an hour early and ruthless protectionism, I had managed to reserve two empty tables, in an empty corner space. Mike appears, carrying a very large cardboard box, he’s tall, broad, handsome and smiling, I can’t help but like him. I buy cake and coffee, Mike eats and swallows. Then he’s up on his feet and animated, as he opens the very large cardboard box, reaches in, lifts, removes and sets down his white and black wooden box creation [very approximately 10 inches high, 16 inches wide, 22 inches long]. Mike talks about wood types, wood grains and wood colourings, I try to listen, whilst appraising his box. I very much like the wee curved arches on the bottom, I reach out and touch, smooth, sturdy.
Mike soon draws my attention to a secret compartment in his box, and reveals how it works; then shows me the white and black metal key to his box, which, though both considerably shorter and less white than I had hoped for, is still kind of cute; then closes the lid of his box and shows me what’s on top. Two thirds plain white, one third white and black inlay. And as I look so I remember, that a very long time before this, Mike had proposed the use of an inlay [for although inlays were not something that Mike did himself, he knew an artisan artist who specialised in such work, whom he had used before to good effect, and whose talent he very much admired], a proposal to which I had promptly agreed, and then even more promptly forgotten about, until I saw the inlay in question….. take a look on the film.
Mike Whittal
The Naming
As Mike and I are standing and chatting, and generally prodding and poking at his box, we are joined by a very smart young man, quite obviously curious. He’d been watching from afar and just had to know, ‘What is it?’ he enquires. ‘Part of a multi-media work of art,’ I explain. ‘What’s it called?’ he continues. ‘Unnamed as yet,’ I tell him. He examines the white and black inlay on top of the box far more closely, is evidently fascinated by the pattern of swirling squirls. He breaks into a big boy grin, ‘Maybe you should call it ‘The Infinity Box,’ he suggests. Mike and I share a smile, the aptness of the name is astonishing, and it’s clear that we are both quite persuaded, so I tell the very smart young man there and then, that yes, ‘The Infinity Box’ is precisely what we will call it. The very smart young man seems quite chuffed, he doffs an imaginary cap, ‘Happy to have helped,’ he says as he backs away, evidently having got what he came for.
Our business complete, Mike and I go our separate ways. He back to his car, and a long drive up north, me, now burdened with a very large and very heavy cardboard box, to struggle my way to Dundee bus station, and from there back to Tayport, where I was living at the time.
Bookbinding
As with all of the other artisan art skills that I had been so busily recruiting, I knew nothing whatsoever about bookbinding. Finding bookbinding firms, I soon discovered, was easy, there are many. Of bookbinding artisan artists, however, there are few. In the very earliest days of my project, I did find one whom I had high hopes for, but she baulked at the notion of artistic licence, ‘But what if you don’t like it?’ she quite reasonably enquired. I failed to persuade her, we moved on. In my case to a fruitless two-year search for a replacement, Scotland-based, bookbinder!
What this particular bookbinder failed to comprehend, was that as far as I was concerned, my liking or not for any creation was irrelevant. What I wanted was:
i] for the creator to like whatever it was that they created.
ii] for the creator’s peers to be able to recognise both fine materials and fine crafts[wo]manship.
iii] for at least some people other than the creator’s peers, to find whatever has been created so visually pleasing/intriguing that they more or less immediately want to touch, explore, hold closely and/or [if possible] look inside.
Laura West 1
Bookbinder, Isle of Skye
Laura’s internet presence was and is minimal, which explains how, over a period of two years or so searching, I had always missed her. I found her just in time, Jenni was almost ready and waiting!
I phoned [though once again I soon discovered that, as with Georgina, Laura much preferred email] and went through my spiel. Laura asked questions, lots of questions. She liked the idea of a team, and requested the email address of all other participating artisan artists, every one of whom she would contact and talk to. She also liked the idea of artistic licence, just so long as it were true. ‘So you really don’t want to see any pictures, neither of my plans nor of my work in progress?’ She asked, quite evidently a little sceptical. ‘Not a thing,’ I responded. Two more minutes of reassurance later, Laura came round, we agreed a commission and that was that. I had finally found and recruited an artisan artist bookbinder, I could hardly believe it. Hoorah.
Laura West 2
Six months or so later and Laura was done. With neither of us trusting the post, we agree to meet in the Kyle of Lochalsh, and to locate one another by phone. I arrive first, choose an almost empty, high roofed, spacious, pool table possessing cafe and text Laura, who arrives soon afterwards, partner in tow. A few brief pleasantries later and Laura gets down to business, lifts her book from a box [made by her partner and very much appreciated], places it on the cafe table, and begins to tell me all about the particular methods and materials that she used. I try to listen, but most of my attention is given over to her book. Which, upon first glance, is plain and simple. I reach out and try to lift, heavy, very heavy. I lie the book flat and try opening some pages, all goes well. Laura stops talking, I stop fiddling, we are both just a little on edge [which is hardly surprising, these ‘handing over’ moments aren’t easy, with both giver and receiver being almost painfully aware that a] the artist’s creation might not be liked by the receiver, b] whatever the receiver’s true opinion of the artist’s creation, they may very well lie]. At any rate, our meeting is short-lived, Laura and her partner have somewhere they have to be. I shake both their hands and off they go, leaving me alone with my newly acquired book in a box, in an otherwise deserted cafe, somewhere in the Kyle of Lochalsh.
Laura West
Epilogue
Back home, upon examining Laura’s book more closely, I was surprised to find several empty pages at the front, and several more at the back. These gave me pause for thought, what to do with them? Cut them out? But why? Fill them in? But how? Perhaps by offering page-size empty spaces to aspiring student artists? Nice idea, I tried it during a covid lockdown, guess how that went! In the end I decided to do nothing. From an aesthetic point of view, I don’t think that any of the empty pages should stay empty, however, as the book is due to be sold, the privilege of choosing what to do with them will now pass to the book’s buyer, which, it seems to me, is how it should be.
The Kyle of Lochalsh
My train rides between Inverness and the Kyle of Lochalsh were revealing. All vast rugged emptiness, full of mountains and hills, rivers and streams, fir trees and sheep. Very few humans and even less cars. Occasionally warm and soft, for the most part, cold and hard.
I found the several one-home train stations particularly pleasing. As for the Kyle of Lochalsh itself, I stayed a night, saw a very large hotel on the seafront, in very poor condition, ate fish and chips from a chip shop [the one and only hot food outlet post 5,00p.m.], wandered to and from the scenic hilltop supermarket, returned to my [1950’s style] B and B, left the next day.
I suspect, though without any great reason over and above historical normality, that a very long succession of greedy men have raped and pillaged the Kyle of Lochalsh, just as they have raped and pillaged so many other villages, all over Scotland, and throughout Scottish time.
James Beaumont
Social media/website person, Boat of Garten
James was the final member of the Two Wolves Project team to be recruited. I had been trying to find such a person for quite some time. Eventually, after many a browse online, I stumbled across ‘Get Kilted,’ how could I possibly resist?
I wanted two things:
i] a Two Wolves Project website, to present, promote and generally discuss my 15,000 word and 9-picture diagram theory of everything, also to show Joel’s film.
ii] a Two Wolves Project social media page, to present, promote and generally discuss the multimedia work of art entitled ‘The Infinity Box’.
I phone and give my spiel, James listens, is non-committal. In order to discuss things more fully, we agree to meet in an Inverness cafe. James is punctual, friendly and professional, he asks a lot of questions, both about my plans and my motives. And as I know nothing whatsoever about social media and/or websites, I too ask a lot of questions. We interrogate and are interrogated in turn, there’s an element of psychological chess. Two coffees and two cakes later, we both acquiesce, James to becoming a part of the Two Wolves Project team, me to becoming James’ client. We agree a commission and shake hands, James departs.
I feel greatly relieved, knowing that all required personnel are now in place. I also feel anxious, I sense the beginning of the end approaching.
Social media and the artisan
Half of the reason for the Two Wolves Project, and all of the reason for the Two Wolves Facebook page, was and is to present and promote the multimedia work of art entitled ‘The Infinity Box’, and via ‘The Infinity Box’, all things artisanal. Which, for quite some time now, have been up against a veritable tsunami of cheap, machine made, plastic goods [or rather bads]. How to fight back? Or more specifically, how to persuade hearts and minds to prefer one, handmade, very expensive item, over ten, machine made, very cheap items? To which the most obvious answer is advertising, which [most annoyingly] usually works. So, how to advertise? So much choice! How to choose?
I chose social media, and for the following reasons.: i] because it’s relatively inexpensive.
ii] because it allows for the presentation and promotion of an ongoing project, over a period of time.
iii] because it allows a number of artisan artists to collectively present and promote [some of] their beautiful creations. Thereby, hopefully, inspiring others to do likewise.
iv] because social media is growing bigger and bigger, and simultaneously becoming a more and more powerful persuader.
v] because, from time to time, social media takes up a cause, and buying less stuff, all of which is handmade, as opposed to buying more stuff, all of which is machine-made, might just be a cause that appeals.
vi] because if ever old-world artisan skills are to survive [and flourish] in the new world of technological skills, a rottweiler ally will undoubtedly be needed!
The Infinity Box film shoot: Dust, Drama, and a Very Mysterious White Box
Filming The Infinity Box in Balintore Castle was meant to be an exercise in stark minimalism, elegance, and silence—a poetic reflection of a classic tale of good versus evil. But nothing quite prepares you for the adventure of working in a castle that, while stunning, was roughly 98% stone and 100% dust. We came prepared to capture tension without words, a clash between light and dark using only expressions, gestures, and a mirror. What we hadn’t prepared for was the real scene-stealer: an enigmatic white box that somehow snuck its way into the finished film.
Our two cast members, draped in stark black and white and painted to match, were stepping into the timeless roles of Good and Evil, two opposing forces caught in a mysterious battle across the bounds of reality. And since this was a silent piece—no dialogue, only expressions—each look, smirk, and gaze had to tell the whole story. They were locked in a room that seemed to exist outside time, silently duelling in the middle of a castle, with only a mirror to separate them. We were set for something profound, eerie, and beautiful.
Setting the Scene and Finding the Box
The Red Room, where we filmed, was everything you’d imagine a castle chamber to be: cold, filled with odd echoes, and wonderfully atmospheric. But, like any castle, it came with quirks, the primary one being an abundance of dust. Each step seemed to kick up a swirl, giving the air an almost enchanted quality that, while photogenic, meant someone had to do a quick dust-off after every take.
Our Art Director, Nazia Mohammad did an incredible job securing lots of mysterious props, but there was one unexpected addition. The Infinity Box book had come packaged in this lovely, mysterious white box sleeve—simple but striking, with an unusual texture that caught the light just so. It wasn’t technically part of our set, but someone joked it “looked like it belonged here,” and it ended up sneaking its way in, as an accidental but oddly perfect addition to our otherwise meticulously organised set. “The Infinity Box Box,” as it was soon dubbed, seemed to fit right in, lending an even more cryptic edge to the scene. Although not part of the art project, it seemed to add a certain something, and what’s more, it seemed determined to be part of the project, and who were we to disappoint?
The Art of Expression: Conveying Infinity without Words
This film was all about gestures and expressions, a true test of silent, intense storytelling. Good and Evil had no lines to deliver, but from their stares and subtle gestures, you could feel the entire weight of their cosmic battle. Good would cast serene, challenging glances in the room, while Evil, trapped on the other side, would respond with glowering, tortured expressions that seemed to twist reality itself. Each take required careful positioning and focus, capturing tiny shifts in expression that carried all the force of a spoken line.
It was incredible to watch these two actors silently give life to something so profound. And despite the hours of repeated takes, not a word of complaint was uttered. Instead, there were laughs in between, some camaraderie over coffee and vegan food, and a sense of quiet respect for the art. The actors radiated good humour, though they maintained serious faces on camera, even when the ‘‘Infinity Box Box’’ kept reappearing, and insisting we include it in a starring role.
The Close Quarters, Good Spirits, and Infinite Patience
Filming with only two actors, a mirror, and that white box in a small room sounds simple in theory, but in reality, it was an artful juggling act. With the camera positioned to capture both actors in frame, crew members were often pressed against the walls, tiptoeing around to avoid making noise or accidentally appearing in the reflection. The dust had a talent for sticking to our actors, and there was even a moment when Good had to halt mid-take to wipe a layer off dust from their makeup, the dramatic expression dissolving into laughter as the makeup smeared across their face. Through it all, our actors’ good nature kept everything light. They held their intense poses through retakes with grace, cracking a smile only once the cameras stopped rolling.
And then there was the matter of “The Box.” At some point, we decided it added an air of mystery to the room—its origins just as ambiguous as the forces at play between Good and Evil. The box stayed in place, becoming a sort of silent witness to the whole performance. Each time we moved it, someone muttered, “But isn’t it symbolic?” So, the box stayed, a quiet participant in the battle of infinite silence, and there it will proudly remain.
The Final Product: A Silent, Mythic Triumph
When we finally wrapped, the room felt full, we looked around, and suddenly felt a sense of realisation that we had been together in this small space for days, and had formed an intense sort of bond, while partaking in an interesting and unique art project. What we’d captured was something surreal, the actors’ expressions telling the entire story of good and evil in looks and gestures alone, all against a backdrop of aged stone, soft light, and that lone, mysterious white box.
The end result? We think it captures the enigmatic nature of the Two Wolves Project, and while the experience left us with a bit of dust on our shoes and memories of intense stares and silent laughter, we walked away grateful to have been part of it. It’s amazing what a team with a sense of humour, resilience, and an unexpected prop can achieve. The castle, the project, and The Infinity Box had left their mark on us all, and in the spirit of timeless battles, we wouldn’t have had it any other way.