Now that I was no longer lost I felt more relaxed. I stopped to look at old wooden farms with turf roofs and churches made of wood so ancient that it had turned black and had a surface more like stone than wood. I felt pleased with myself for sticking with the project and finding my way across the wilderness. I looked forward to a meal in Oslo and perhaps a better hotel. It would be strange to talk and spend time with people again. I did not know the gallerists I was going to meet and it would be hard to make the shift back to being socially appropriate

The road turned from gravel back to tarmac and became a little wider. I even passed a small truck heading in the other direction. I should have stopped them to ask the way but felt I must be on the right route and didn't really want to admit I was lost. I came to a fork in the road and took the larger of the two. After another ten minutes of driving the tarmac disappeared, and I seemed to be back on the same old track. I was becoming a bit concerned and a bit bored. It was fun to drive on this treacherous surface but I'd been doing it for hours and I wanted to get to Oslo before dark. I was intending to accept an offer to do a show there the following year and I wanted to see what the space looked like in daylight. More than that it felt frustrating to be unable to escape, like being in a maze

I have been making a number of films of water moving. I had bought a video camera along and I set it up on a tripod on a little peninsular jutting into the lake. I left the camera running and concentrated on listening. I guess everybody does this sometimes, to focus only on what you can hear as if it were music. It was easy to do here as the only sounds were the birds and the quietly lapping water. After a while I returned to the car with all the equipment and decided it was time to find the road to Oslo. I inserted the Led Zeppelin CD and dove off, sending up a spray of gravel

When you draw water you are really drawing the sky or whatever is reflected in the water, it is the surface that you draw. In some ways it doesn't matter how close you zoom in you are still drawing the same thing, always a detail. There is something absolute about drawing water although it is different every second and in every place. Most of the landscapes I draw push the space back into the picture, I try to achieve this with the minimum of means, just enough to deny the real surface of the object. With pictures of water without any horizon or edge the image pushes up to near the surface but somehow the same effect is achieved of making the object , the canvas and stretcher, disappear. Perhaps this is because it is really a reflection of something much further away

I felt I had reached some kind of mid-point in the journey. Stockholm and the art world was far behind me and I felt familiar with the car and with myself. I had hardly uttered a word outloud all day and the clamour of thoughts and reactions in my head had died down. The road twisted and turned and began to feel familiar as if I was making no progress but simply circling

The narrow gravel road continued for hours. I was enjoying the ride, the sun was bright, the air super clean and I was getting a lot of good material but it would have been comforting to cross a proper road or even see a sign. I had chosen to take this unmarked road and I had plenty of time but there is something disconcerting about being lost. It was hard to simply keep driving and not really know if it would get me anywhere

The small road I was on led down to Oslo. I had made an appointment to meet a gallerist there that evening but it was still the middle of the day so I turned right at random. After a few miles the tarmac gave over to gravel which thundered and popped under my tires. After nearly loosing control of the car a couple of times I slowed down. Without my mobile it would be disastrous to slide off the road out here. It wasn't exactly wilderness but there was no sign of agriculture or even logging. There was the occasional log cabin but they looked more like shelters for hunters than homes. I stopped often to listen to the fast flowing streams that ran alongside the road or to look out over the numerous lakes. It had been a busy time leading up to the show in Stockholm and I had not planned things very well. I had forgotten to bring my mini-disc sound recorder. I justified buying a new one if I could find an updated digital version but the airport store was very limited and I had hoped to find one in Stockholm. Once there I was plunged into the practical problems of hanging the show and I had forgotten about it. Now I cursed myself for the missed opportunities. I had bought some BBC sound recordings of natural atmospheres which included mountain streams but this sounded much better

The border crossing was unmanned on this small road. I privately celebrated as I crossed and immediately had a good feeling about being in Norway. I found myself repeating the word "Norwegian" and making positive generalisations about the few Norwegian people I know. The villages were much more quaint than they had been in Sweden. Nestled in valleys, usually at the ends of long thin lakes, they centred on amazing, complicated Gothic wooden churches. They were the first old buildings I had seen since leaving Stockholm. It was quite hot and I had the windows down. I stopped at every bridge and often just pulled over to the side of the road to take in the view

The road climbed still higher and was now empty of cars. There were no houses or cabins, just endless pine forest. At the crest of a hill I stopped next to a large log pile. I was keen to push on to the Norwegian border but I saw a muddy path leading into the forest made by huge tractor tires. Many trees had been felled creating a vista down the valley. Staying just within the forest I followed the path away from the road. The silent, cool atmosphere of the forest soon took over. The trees were packed in close to each other but the forest floor was fairly barren. Along the edge of the felled area enough light had penetrated the gloom for some small flowers to grow

I had been passing troops of motorcyclists all day. They were all heading in the opposite direction and I had to wait for a long stream of them to pass before turning onto a dirt track that ran alongside the lake. There were wooden cabins built into the pine forest facing the water. They had a nice view and it must be a pleasure to watch the lake as the light changed but I wouldn't choose to take my holidays there. The ground had a churned up feeling as if too much building work had gone on for the sparse forest to manage. The houses felt bare and exposed, overlooked by others and more were under construction. The was no noise from the busy road further up the bank but one sensed that it would be calmer on the far side of the lake