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I am half Scottish. My father is an expat from Glasgow, and on my mother's side there's a bit of French, a bit of Scottish, a bit of Irish.

I am Scottish. I am also British.

I'm Scottish first, and it's odd to hear that I'm a Scottish-American.

I do feel Scottish in some way. Maybe it's to do with visiting my grandparents here every summer as a child, but I am aware of my Scottish ancestry. It's there all right, but it would be pushing it to label me a Scottish painter. Or, indeed, an anywhere painter.

Both my parents are Scottish, and although I grew up in Canada after moving over, all of my family are proud to be Scots.

I'm as Scottish as they come.

My roots are Scottish. My dad's parents are from Scotland, and my mum's dad is Scots.

I found that Scottishness and Englishness are actually strong, instinctive things, whatever the historical reasons. Even the accent changes - just two inches across the border.

There are hundreds of thousands of Scots who acknowledge English, Irish or Welsh parts of their very being. Lives and destinies are similarly intertwined in Catalonia and Spain, in Ukraine and Russia.

I had a whole Scottish existence until we moved to London when I was four.