The Quarry Studio sits there like it grew out of the ground; a simple conceit, a desire to be a part – and a partner – of the quarry setting. Protected by an absence, created within a bowl scooped from Aberdeenshire stone.
The wind does its usual thing—whistling through the trees, making everything feel a little more dramatic, encouraging the rain to arrive horizontally. These architects love that kind of stuff. So do photographers. There’s no bad weather, just the wrong clothing.
The timber is weathering, the steel is holding its breath, and the windows are mindfully reflecting the clouds, the many clouds, as they roll by. Inside, it’s quiet. Thoughtful. Contemplative. A great place for architects to figure things out. Inspirational.
Light does what light does. Mornings are soft and fogged-up, like the studio just woke up after a really good night around the fire with a decent dram of Royal Lochnagar. Probably a little like the photographer.
Evenings go golden, stretching the shadows long and lean, like a noir film set in the Scottish wilderness. Set up the tripod and wait, the light changes, mercurial and fickle, fleeting and fast, you see those tantalising beams of sunlight through the cloud. Anywhere else you’d say the light dances, here it’s a jig; hopping, kicking, and shuffling, 6/8 time across the tree tops, in their determination to fade before they reach you. But you wait anyway. It’s just to compelling to turn away.
Shadows move. Stone stays. People come and go. That’s how it always is. The studio is just there, waiting, thinking, letting the world spin around it.
And somewhere, Ben Addy is striding across a mountain top, compass in hand, planning something.
