This short film, originially broadcast on Scottish Television as part of the Gaelic arts programme, 'Tacsi', examines the life of Angus Macphee who spent 50 years of his life in a mental institution where he knitted grass sculptures.
Born into a crofting family on South Uist in the Hebrides, Angus McPhee learned the local skill of making rope out of grass to put over haystacks, secure roof thatching or to lead horses from the fields.
While serving in the army in World War Two, Angus developed mental health problems, and was admitted to Craig Dunain, the psychiatric hospital outside of Inverness. He spent the next 50 years of his life there, virtually without speaking.
Angus would weave ropes, garments, shoes and containers from grass, beech leaves and pieces of sheep's wool collected from the hedges and fences in the grounds of the hospital.
In 1996, when the hospital was closed, Angus was transferred to a nursing home on Uist.
In this film, the art therapist Joyce Laing describes her first encounter with Angus and his art.
Visiting Craig Dunain, she had been told about a patient who made things out of grass and whose work could be found under the trees and bushes of the hospital grounds. ‘Jim and I began to rummage about under the bushes, "Look," I cried excitedly, "It's a boot."
Seconds later Jim emerged from the undergrowth, triumphant with another boot. We placed them on the grass — they were a pair. Then like kids at a party, we ran in and out of the bushes, bringing out all manner of garments, a coat, trousers, a peat creel and on it went.
The charge nurse, watching us from the ward window, decided to join us. "Would you like to meet Angus?" he queried. "We couldn't wait. He sent the young nurse to the fields to find Angus. Shortly, Angus appeared, a fine handsome man, over six foot tall. Dressed in grey hospital garb, he also sported a grass cap on his head, a sheep's wool muffler and a sheep's wool handkerchief with the pointed triangle showing from his top jacket pocket — the touch of a gentleman’."
Angus never spoke about the purpose or meaning of his weavings and stood and watched impassively as the hospital gardeners raked them up and burned them with the autumn leaves each year.
The surviving fragments of his output have a beauty and a power that belies their fragility and give an eloquent if enigmatic voice to this silent man.
Angus died just before an exhibition of his work was opened at
Taigh Chearsabhagh, a renowned art gallery in North Uist.
Originally Posted by Thistle Stop
Geesh, I hope Al Qaida don't get wind of this!
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