Exploring Place Attachment & Isolation.
As I continue to evolve in my artistic journey, I’ve started to notice patterns in the places I choose to paint. They are rarely random, often evoking a deep emotional connection for me—whether tied to a personal memory or simply a sense of belonging that I can’t quite put into words. This realisation has led me to start exploring different theories, like place attachment and genius loci, as tools to better understand my work and, potentially, to guide where I go next.
The Concept of Place Attachement.
Place attachment is a theory I’ve only recently starting looking into more, but it’s already started to illuminate aspects of my work that I hadn’t fully considered before. The idea that we form emotional bonds with specific places based on our experiences and memories resonates deeply with the way I relate to the landscapes I paint. While I wasn’t consciously aware of it, most of the places I’ve depicted so far have personal significance for me. Rarely have I painted from a place that doesn’t evoke a memory or emotion.
For instance, there is an abandoned cottage near the village where I grew up that has always intrigued me, and one that I have been thinking of more recently. As a child, we'd pass this occasionally when hiking to Sluggan or Dalnahaitnach, and I can remember always being fascinated by it, thinking of its history — who lived there, what led to its abandonment, and what stories the walls could tell. I wonder now whether this attachment to such places, which seem forgotten by people but alive with hidden histories, has shaped my attraction to similarly isolated landscapes.
The theory of place attachment, as described by scholars like Hidalgo and Hernández (2001), suggests that the way we connect with places goes beyond surface-level appreciation. It’s about the stories they hold, the memories they stir, and the emotions they evoke. This might explain why I’ve always been drawn to specific, often remote locations. These places, though isolated, carry with them a quiet sense of belonging, even when I’m the only one there.
Genius Loci: Listening to the Spirit of a Place.
In addition to place attachment, I’ve also been exploring the concept of genius loci — the spirit of a place. This idea, originating in ancient Roman religion, has been adapted in modern architectural and artistic theory (Norberg-Schulz, 1980). It speaks to the unique atmosphere or essence that defines a location. When I paint, I often try to capture more than just the physical appearance of a landscape. There’s always an underlying energy or narrative I’m trying to convey, as if the place is communicating its own story.
Take Loch Voil, for example. It’s not just a beautiful spot to me; it holds layers of personal and familial history. My family visited the loch several times during my teenage years, and my parents often shared stories of camping there when they were dating. I also discovered, only after completing my own painting of the loch, that my Nana Kay—my mum's mum—had painted the same place years before. This connection, which I hadn't realized until later, has become a part of our family lore. These shared stories, along with the centuries of history held within the loch itself, are what drew me to paint it. I’m not only trying to capture its physical beauty but also its spirit, its genius loci.
Isolation.
As I reflect on these theories, I also see how they might tie into another recurring theme in my work: isolation. The landscapes I’m drawn to are often remote, devoid of human presence, yet they feel far from empty. There’s a sense of stillness that, rather than making me feel lonely, brings a sense of calm and purpose. The very act of painting has also been isolating for me — it’s something I’ve done mostly on my own until recently, when I started sharing my work more publicly.
But perhaps this isolation is not a negative force. Often times in life there is a discomfort, of not feeling quite like you belong, and in the quiet spaces, both within the landscapes I paint and within myself as I create, there’s a sense of peace and connection that I’m only starting to understand. I think this is where the idea of place attachment really comes in. The places I paint may be empty, but they aren’t lifeless. They’re filled with memories, stories, and histories — both mine and those of the world around me.
Where to next?
Now that I’ve started to look into these theories, I’m curious about the ways they might shape my practice moving forward. Place attachment and genius loci give me a new framework for thinking about why I paint the landscapes I do and what I’m trying to communicate through them. They’ve also opened up new avenues for exploration: What other places hold emotional significance for me? How can I better tap into the stories and spirits of the landscapes I choose to paint? How might this work in a more ubran landscape?
I’ve always felt a strong connection to the places I depict in my work, but now I have the tools to explore this connection more deeply. By engaging with these theories, I’m hoping to push myself to see beyond the surface of the landscapes I paint, to tap into their emotional and historical depths, and to better understand the role isolation plays in both my work and my life.
References:
Hidalgo, M. C., & Hernández, B. (2001). Place attachment: Conceptual and empirical questions. Journal of Environmental Psychology, 21(3), 273-281.
Norberg-Schulz, C. (1980). Genius loci: Towards a phenomenology of architecture. Rizzoli.
Swan, A. (n.d.). Genius loci: The spirit of place. Retrieved from https://www.alisonswan.com/genius-loci-the-spirit-of-place/
