I visited the National Galleries of Scotland and had a magical moment

He gently re-arranges nature to attract an audience, though I doubt he’s doing it to attract a mate.

Still, I have never been a huge fan. When I was at art college, decades ago, I was a bit ‘meh’ about his work. Who cares about leaves and logs? I suppose I was young and a city girl, so I didn't feel he was relevant to me.

Thus, it was my eightysomething mum who suggested we go to Andy Goldsworthy: 50 Years, at the National Galleries of Scotland, along with a couple of her best pals.

Her newly piqued interest may be down to the fact she’s originally from Moffat, and she’d discovered that the English Goldsworthy has been based in Dumfriesshire for the past 40 years.

I took the day off work, so I could be the official wheelchair chauffeur. Mum can walk for a few metres, with a stick, but a gallery visit without kinetic help is too much.

Thankfully, I’m very practised at pushing her around exhibitions. I don’t go too fast, or frustratingly slow, and I know when mum is engrossed by reading an information board, or looking at a piece, and it’s time to linger for a while.

As someone who used to work in galleries, I am also ultra careful about bashing into precious artworks. I’ve got an inbuilt spatial awareness sensor that’s better than anything Tesla could ever invent. So, no wheelies or spins, no matter how hard she begs.

I have also learnt a throat-clearing method, to get people to move to let her chariot through. If they don’t then I can’t be held responsible for pulped toes.

As always, I arrived at the gallery way too early, and stood for about 30 minutes with the chair that I’d borrowed from reception, while a busker played very loud Nirvana covers.

When the taxi pulled up, everyone was slowly decanted.

Thankfully, Edinburgh’s Royal Scottish Academy building is excellent, when it comes to accessibility. From the ramp at the back, we were straight into their lift - ‘beam me up, Scotty’, said mum’s friend, showing his age - though we were actually going down to the ticket desk.

Then back up to the fourth floor, for the first part of the show. As I was there as mum’s plus one, and had bagged a £3 carer’s admission, I wheeled her towards whatever drew her attention. She’s the boss. The initial room of photos didn’t really grab her, and she wanted to go straight to the installation - Oak Passage (2025).

It’s the stuff of fairy tales - a path through the woods - and it fills almost the whole floor. This piece is made from gnarled windfallen branches, like knotted shepherds’ crooks.

I think about all the untangling it would take to disassemble this, and remember trying to tidy my jewellery box and all of its chains, or the burdock burrs that inspired the creation of Velcro. According to the bumph, it’s a reminder that “the oak floor of the gallery was once a tree - that a building was nature”.

We stopped here for a while, at the end of the path. However, I didn’t want to chance squeezing the wheelchair along. I was sure that the whole installation would turn inside out, like a balled-up sock, as we rolled through the central reservation.

In another room, she loved the video art work triptych - Red River Rock (2026), which involved a red ironstone rock being washed, and releasing its dramatic red smoke-like effluvium into the water.

Also, on the second floor of the gallery, she enjoyed the footage that featured Goldsworthy walking on ice, or creating hypnotic tiny ripples in the water with his fingertip.

“They’re lovely, though I wouldn’t want one in my house,” said mum. Fair enough. No video artwork for mum. I’ll score that off the Christmas list.

However, our favourite work of all was Skylight (2025).

It was made in response to the building, and he used reed mace, or bullrushes, that were gathered from Loch of Kinnordy Nature Reserve in Angus and other lochs in Dumfries and Galloway. They’ve been inserted into each other and placed around the cupola at the top of this grand room. The effect, once I’d wheeled mum into the centre of the space, is like being in a chapel - “they look like pipe organs” - she said. Or, hunkering into a childhood den, with the diffused light and quiet. It made my blood pressure instantly lower. I think this is what they mean when they say an artwork is meditative.

I looked at the back of mum’s head, and she seemed to be enjoying it. She was gazing up at the light from the portal.

It felt a bit magical.

We went to find her friends, who were looking at the partner work for Skylight, called Gravestones (2025). It features rocks that were displaced by burials in 108 Dumfries & Galloway graveyards.

“He’ll have minions, who do it for him,” whispered one of mum’s friends. But, no, according to the bumph, he chose them himself, with the help of his son.

I’m sure the minions were deployed at a later stage.

Overall, the gang seemed happy with the show, and I am something of a convert. There were other pieces that I enjoyed, like Wool Runner (2025) and Fence (2025).

However, it really just needed one magical moment to win me round.

Now you can beam me back down, Scotty.

Andy Goldsworthy: 50 Years is on at the National Galleries of Scotland’s Royal Academy until November 2, 2025, www.nationalgalleries.org

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