Charles Catton senior

Catton was the kind of man who carried a little sketchbook everywhere, even on walks with his dogs. He spent decades painting the bridges around Hawick, Scotland, not to show off grand vistas, but to catch the rusty hinges, the chipped paint, the way light hit the stone at 4 p.m. in November. You’ll find his watercolor tucked beside the café tables in Hawick’s town hall; it’s the one locals point to when they say, “That’s how our bridges really look.”