A film made during and in response to the January 2026 First Friday Walk, prompted by Lucy Guenot.
She wrote, “Let’s think about the walks and the paths and tracks that are most familiar to us: the comfort of taking a well-known route where you don’t need to think about directions or following a map.
“Reflect also on the history of old tracks, made by centuries of walking:
"These are old paths, designed
And kept alive by feet
For whom walking was
The only way of going.
These are the treads of workers,
Plodding early with their bait
To quarries, mills, farms …"
From 'Wotton Walks’ by U A Fanthorpe."
I was booked on the train from London to Edinburgh on January 2nd, so I could not walk. Instead, I filmed the countryside, cities, and full moon through the window as we rushed past. To make the work, I slowed the footage down and juxtaposed it with the sound of me walking a familiar walk between my home and the nearby beach.
On the train, I didn’t need to think about directions or following a map, I was simply carried along. This was a ‘comfort’ of sorts, though walking is better for my hips than sitting down for long periods. I had time to think that the train tracks between Scotland and England were laid down over the same earth that drovers walked on from the Highlands to the Lowlands in the 18th and 19th centuries. These epic walks were with dogs, sheep, and ‘hardy black cattle’.
By contrast, I walked on striped LNER carpets, bumping into the seats on my way to the buffet, loo, or the end of the carriage to stretch. Standing looking out, I remembered the old school trains which had windows which opened. I used to lean out as far as I could and feel the fast air on my cheeks.
Kristina Rothstein and Tamsin Grainger took a third walk, together yet apart in October 2025.
We walked at the same time as each other, Kristina in Canada and Tamsin in Scotland, agreeing that the location would be woods, and the subject, mapping. Stopping at 20, 40 and 60 minutes, we drew and/or recorded verbal maps on site and then followed up with artwork that included collage and video.
The top two images above were taken by Kristina Rothstein in Canada and the two below by me, on our Woods Walk.
The top two images above were taken by me, and the two below by Kristina Rothstein in Canada, on our Woods Walk.
The three illustrations above show Kristina’s maps of words, memories and dogs respectively.
This video shows images (photographic and hand-drawn in pencil), from Tamsin’s walk in Scotland, together with recorded audio maps of the natural species found in the woods, and the rubbish that threatens to engulf them. It also includes two collages made using the InCollage app and paper/glue/scissors.
This is a new collaboration between Kristina Rothstein and Tamsin Grainger where we walk together, apart. Kristina is in Vancouver, Canada, and I am in Edinburgh, Scotland.
Last week, we walked at the same time as each other, despite the time difference of 8 hours and having only spoken together once online. We didn’t exchange maps or describe where we were going, but agreed that we would walk on edgeland (whatever that meant to us), and stop to communicate in some way at 30, 60 and 90 minutes during our walks. We both viewed and listened to each other’s work before we began. Our interest was in the process, experience and outcome of such an experiment, whether we would find that there were any cross-overs or influences, despite the geographical distance.
Kristina walks in Vancouver
Kristina writes: I began my walk at a parking area (///swimmer.behaving.sailor) where the middle fork of the Fraser River meets the Straight of Georgia (Pacific Ocean). I followed a multi-use trail along the dike. When possible, I took unofficial trails that skirted closer to the intertidal flats area, passing through some thickets to where the ground becomes watery. My first intervention happened there. Leaving the path felt right. My second intervention was on the gravel dike path, where a long row of tall trees lines a golf course. My third intervention occurred where a residential road dead-ends at the trail, with a rural park on the other side.
Tamsin walks in Edinburgh
Tamsin writes: I began my walk at the intersection between land and the Firth of Forth (///kinks.coats.salsa), an estuary of the North Sea at the edge of the city of Edinburgh. I followed the Eastern Breakwater, the right arm of Granton Harbour. This long, stone wall (would you call it a dike?) is raised above the sea and divides the calmer waters where the yachts are moored, from Wardie Bay which is used for wild swimming. The Breakwater travels directly out to sea and then bends left, eventually coming to an end where the ocean surrounded me on three sides. A graffiti-covered structure stands sentinel. ‘Silence’ I read to myself. I looked down to the skirt of stones which appear at low tide around the base of the wall and saw a fisherman casting his rod. If he was aware of me speaking into my microphone to Kristina, he didn’t show it.
TG EdinburghKR Vancouver
KR: I looked at the land differently, with a focus on transmitting to Tamsin, my walking partner. Carrying her with me psychically changed my relationship to the landscape and my experience of the place. It did feel like I had a passenger. I imagined seeing things through her eyes and also tried to imagine her own edgeland superimposed alongside mine and what she might be seeing and thinking. This one to one connection felt very different from walking remotely with a group. I thought about allowing myself to flow and seep into my walking partner and I opened myself to receive signals.
TG: I was pleased to walk with Kristina as my companion. I had the phone recorder on most of the time so I could share the sounds of the landscape with her. I chatted away as if she was there beside me. Not knowing what she was seeing and hearing, I trusted that our connection would bring about some synchronicity. I actively merged myself with my imagination of her, attempting to walk in time with her footsteps, and see my views through her eyes.
KR: This is a trail I walk or cycle on infrequently. There were more borders and edges than I remembered: the line of a golf course and houses, a drainage ditch, the dike, a border of brambles and rosehips, the tidal marsh, the sea.
Breakwater, Tamsin Grainger, Edinburgh, Scotland
TG: I’m familiar with this walk, can actually see through the window if I stand on the edge of my bed. The Breakwater cuts a clean line into the sea, dissecting the outer limit of the city and points a crooked finger towards the far shore of Fife. Before the harbour was completed, in 1863, the shore showed on the maps as a smooth curve. Now, I like to think that we reach out and gather people into our arms (as the nation of Scotland welcomes refugees and people seeking asylum), extending our limits and, hopefully, opening our minds beyond borders.
KR: It was late morning for me, on a clear sunny day. I passed a lot of walkers and cyclists, saw and heard many birds including a flock of herons and a lot of airplanes and seaplanes. I liked using this vague prompt to begin. It would be interesting to see what happened if a more detailed idea of the walk was given ahead of time.
TG: It was a very fine evening – unseasonably warm, though breezy as usual – and a popular place to be. Planes were banking overhead, then soaring towards the airport. I counted at least eight different languages being spoken, evidence of this multi-cultural area. I met a local friend walking with a visitor, who was delighted when I said I was walking, remotely, with someone in Vancouver, as she’d been there.
KR VancouverTG Edinburgh
KR: “Edgeland” is not that descriptive so I don’t know whether the similarity and overlap in our landscapes was a connection or based on me knowing something about Tamsin’s work. After sharing some of our experiences I was taken by the ways in which large birds played a role. It was also exciting that we were moved to make percussive use of the surroundings, something I have not done before. Wind was a strong presence, somewhat common by water, but not necessarily. We were also both drawn to vertical structures, perhaps because they stand out on edges.
TG: What sounds and words should I include in the final recording? I wasn’t using quality recording technology (or even a sock), so the wind often drowned out my voice. There were the constant tunes coming from the bagpipers rehearsing on the Middle Breakwater. And I had also picked up a stick, using it to play persussive rhythms on various surfaces in time with the regular pace of my footsteps. Listening to my commentary afterwards, I was reminded of the line from the Twelve Days of Christmas, “Eleven Pipers Piping” and following that thought thread, I wrote the text, juxtaposing it with the found sounds of the environment. It was only later that I discovered Kristina had also picked up a stick and played it. Then I wished I had included it in the final cut!
KR VancouverTG Edinburgh
Listen to the Sounds we made in response to our walks together, apart
We both hope to repeat this Walking in Pairs, exploring different landscapes and experimenting with various briefs and prompts to see what happens when we walk together, apart.
Here is the film on Vimeo. Poppies have long been seen as a symbol of sleep, peace and death, not, for me, a sign of patriotism, nor any sort of justification for war
I chose to walk on the familiar site of Granton Castle in Edinburgh, now naturalised wasteland to the sea-side of the Granton Gasholder, which you can see glimpses of in the film. I’d been researching the Rough Wooing, an attack on Scotland by Henry VIII (1543-1551). It was in retaliation for Mary Queen of Scots refusing to marry Edward and allying herself, instead, with France. The first tranche ruined this Medieval castle which stood overlooking the Firth of Forth, where the marauders landed.
The historian William Ferguson contrasted “the jocular nickname of the ‘Rough Wooing’ with the savagery and devastation of the war, “the English policy was simply to pulverise Scotland, to beat her either into acquiescence or out of existence,…”” and that reminded me of wars happening now in Palestine and the Ukraine. Luckily, I am geographically far away from them, but nevertheless I see and read about what is happening, and my heart goes out to the people for their enormous loss. I ask, What can I do?
So, I walked this familiar route with war in mind, inviting the landscape to reveal ways in which I might be able to get insight, to deepen my understanding of the outcome of such actions, and develop compassion for what it might be like to be in the middle of it.
You will see symbols of remembrance, Rowan berries like drops of blood, damaged household items strewn everywhere, indications of brutality, seemingly apt graffiti, what might be a grave and a tombstone, and stumps – trees and metal cut down in their prime. The soundtrack features the cries of a pair of unseen sparrowhawks, quaking poplars, the threatening rumble of a surveillance helicopter, the comments of magpies, and empty silences. (Please note that you may need to turn up the sound on your device.) There are trees which have been wounded including one that was burned, and I spent some time beside it drawing its poor body with some of its own charcoal.
Found saw, Granton, Edinburgh
Finally, I walked into a quiet clearing where butterflies, bees and other insects were alive. There is, as always with living entities, the instinct to continue, to keep on climbing over obstacles, even if you’re a tiny ladybird in a vast place. The natural landscape does renew itself, eventually, and although this is hard won and in no way negates the horror of human conflict, it was a hopeful reminder that these wars will end. Some people, at least, will learn from them, will understand that though they have been wronged, such aggression does not justify attrocity, nor forge positive relationships for the future or bring about the peace for which we all yearn.
For the record: I, in no way condone the attack on Be’eri, the Israeli kibbutz and the killing and capturing of civilians there by Hammas.
1 November 2024 a Walking the Land artist collective monthly event. This Friday’s brief was by Janette Kerr and me, Tamsin Grainger and part of the Lines of Enquiry, a collective walking art project which will culminate in a group exhibition in 2025.
Look for somewhere to sit, stand or crouch on your own. Pause. Close your eyes and concentrate on listening.
Try to separate out all the sounds you can hear.
Using a piece of paper and pencil, crayon or pen, and with your eyes still closed, make marks on your paper that you think might represent the sounds you are hearing (don’t try to make a picture of, or draw, the thing making the noise!)
Spend as long as you like doing this. You might stop and do it several times during the walk.
If you are walking with others, you might try this together on one piece of paper.
Here are the What3Words locations for the 6 stops we made along part of the Edinburgh Cycle Path network, connecting in spirit with others who were walking along the Honeybourne Line (Gloucestershire) and elsewhere.
///Causes.Host.Home
///Perky.Fetch.Useful
///Notice.Case.Bugs
///Linked.Tides.Eager
///Bounty.Belong.Only
///Maker.Exit.Corn
///Friday.Notice.Retail
Damp earth causes stains Tree hosts magpies and sparrows Home is far away.
Wet bottoms as we drew the sounds around us with our eyes closed Sometimes using two hands as the sound came from so many places. Photo Janette Kerr
Perky dog's tail wags 'Fetch' calls his human with joy Useful happinness.
Part of the No Birds Land sound walk installationUnder the Bridge. Edinburgh cycle paths. Photo Janette Kerr
Notice how cold stone Is, in case of chills and piles Bugs me every time.
Walking without a donkey 