Maclean is a scavenger of often fiddly bits of bone, wood, fishing line, canvas, weights, hooks, scraps of log books, ceramic fish. All remnants of a once vibrant culture. He reassembles them to create oblique narrative worlds that tell bygone tales about local traditions, doomed sea voyages, emigration, the Clearances, his own relatives. One large tableau, Abigail's Apron, shows us the apron of this aunt, carved out of a single, shapely, down-lapping piece of polished wood. It has a pocket that contains a wooden-doll-like representation of her husband and some of the fishing clutter that were a part of his everyday world. This is pure shamanism, almost voodoo. The objects are often arranged, even stacked inside their boxes, hieratically, as if they are religious symbols of a kind, reliquaries, ex-voto images, ghostly echoings of the crucifixion.
The way in which some of these objects are organised and suspended makes us reflect upon how much the shape of a fish resembles that of a coracle. Everything tends towards paleness and ceremoniousness. There is no humour here. Laughter would be quite out of place. One work in particular shows us a rowing boat end-on, skewered by a thin length of pale wood. Its oars fan out like the helpless arms of Christ. Mummified forms lie in the bottom of the boat, and beneath the boat there is a raised area covered with near invisible crosses. The dead. The piece is called Canada Passage, Cholera Bay.
Maclean is a scavenger of often fiddly bits of bone, wood, fishing line, canvas, weights, hooks, scraps of log books, ceramic fish. All remnants of a once vibrant culture. He reassembles them to create oblique narrative worlds that tell bygone tales about local traditions, doomed sea voyages, emigration, the Clearances, his own relatives. One large tableau, Abigail's Apron, shows us the apron of this aunt, carved out of a single, shapely, down-lapping piece of polished wood. It has a pocket that contains a wooden-doll-like representation of her husband and some of the fishing clutter that were a part of his everyday world. This is pure shamanism, almost voodoo. The objects are often arranged, even stacked inside their boxes, hieratically, as if they are religious symbols of a kind, reliquaries, ex-voto images, ghostly echoings of the crucifixion.
The way in which some of these objects are organised and suspended makes us reflect upon how much the shape of a fish resembles that of a coracle. Everything tends towards paleness and ceremoniousness. There is no humour here. Laughter would be quite out of place. One work in particular shows us a rowing boat end-on, skewered by a thin length of pale wood. Its oars fan out like the helpless arms of Christ. Mummified forms lie in the bottom of the boat, and beneath the boat there is a raised area covered with near invisible crosses. The dead. The piece is called Canada Passage, Cholera Bay.