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

It was hot by this time. I was nearing the Norwegian, Swedish border and had plenty of time. I had the widows down and the music on, the Balinese sounds relaxation C.D. Reflected sunlight flashed in my eyes through the pine trees. I took a side road down towards the lake and found myself in a hamlet of holiday cabins. They were spread out along the shore, each one flying the Swedish flag. No-one seemed to be around so I left the car and walked down onto some ones private pontoon. I had a perfect low view of the lake looking into the sun. I set up all my cameras and stayed for a while. Only on returning to the car did I see that I had been watched from one of the log cabins. I waved at the man and got a nod in return

As I climbed higher into more mountainous country the farmland gave over to logging country. I took a lot of pictures, not just of the views across the lakes but also of the log piles that lined the road. They created a strange perspective with the bright, flat circles where the trunks had been cut and the long dark cylinders falling back towards a vanishing point. I also photographed the farm buildings. They are often painted bright red or yellow with white around the windows and the outer frames. I recognised that my appetite for looking and recording had returned

I managed to get up early and had a bad hotel breakfast in the huge ball room of the hotel. I studied the other guests around me. Since this did not seem to be a tourist town I reckoned that they were on business or visiting relatives. I paid my bill and took the road North West only stopping at T-junctions, wanting to leave this low farmland. I had to find a map as the one I had from the car rental company only covered Sweden. The Norwegian part was just white as if no one knew what happened beyond the border. The villages here followed a different pattern from those in England. They were more spread out, like small American towns. There were big wooden farm houses and barns as one approached the village, then a series of neighbourhoods laid out suburban style and lastly a shopping strip ending in a big petrol station with a mini market attached. I stopped in one of these and asked the only other driver how to use the petrol pumps. The mini market seemed to sell everything including quite major farm machinery and outboard engines. I bought some supplies for the road and asked the woman at the cash register if they sold maps. They didn't but there were free ones near the exit. At least that was what I though she said. I left with the map fearing that I was stealing it but there was now a long queue at the till