Gabriëlla Cleuren

These works capture my memories of an event on a mysterious uninhabited island: Raguénez (Finistère, Brittany). Twice a day, the link to the mainland is cut off by the tides. If you don’t keep an eye on the time, you could easily find yourself stranded for another six hours by nightfall and forced to spend the night out in the open.

One sunny afternoon, I decided to visit the island to collect stones and shells for my art. I select them carefully for pattern, colour and shape because they need to form a collection: all round, oval, white or sandy. As the island is a rocky hill, you can discover beautiful stones that have been washed, polished and bleached white by the sea and the sun. A deep gully between the sandy rocks was the entrance to an extremely quiet world with a view of the vast ocean, but not of the headland.

Completely focused on my collection, I pleasantly lost track of time and trusted a young couple behind me, who were sitting on a rock admiring the sea. I assumed they would leave the island immediately once the water began its flood-like advance to reach the entrance, so they could return to the mainland in time, over sharp rocks and sand dunes, a distance of nearly 800 metres. But even though I’m not usually very conscious of time when I’m focused on my work, I had the strange feeling that the hours were dragging on too long to be normal. I started packing my treasures into plastic bags and hurried back to the entrance where I intended to leave. Alas, too late! A large part of the hills had vanished and the water was rushing in from both sides at breakneck speed. The rock formations looked strange, with unrecognisable protrusions rising above the water. I had to decide quickly. With my bags in the air, I hurried across like John the Baptist through the Jordan – a reckless decision, I was told later.

I had no choice. At home, nobody knew where I was, so I didn’t fancy staying there for hours in the dark. So I had to cross the sea as best I could. It was a difficult splash with sharp rock needles underwater and a heavy load in each hand. The way back wasn’t as recognisable as I’d hoped, and only with great difficulty did I reach the beach, where I collapsed and stood there for a while: exhausted. After recovering, I set off on my walk back home.

No one missed me; they hadn’t even realised I’d ventured out. ‘You could have drowned,’ was the comment.