Wendy McBride

I find if I walk round Tresco’s beaches I might discover, on any day, something in this circle of light that will stay in my memory like a myth or a song, or the sea simply whisper “remember me”. I will paint here. The only trouble is, when I come back, the tide’s unravelled, the light and clouds have done something to the colours - wonderful, but spectacularly different - and now the other islands bob about like little hats. So what to do?