UP the hill next to the old jail in Stirling’s old town, a vibrant mural screams: “Come inside and see what’s on offer!”

I acquiesce and walk through to find an art gallery I’ve heard great things about.

The receptionist tells me that ­although popular with tourists, a lot of locals don’t bother walking up the hill to pop inside the Tolbooth. Which is criminal for a place like this.

Because it’s not just an art ­gallery.

The venue is packed with a ­deceptively huge auditorium where they host ­musicians and comics ­regularly, with ­music rooms that students can book to practice their pieces, so you can enjoy the arts even if you’re not keen on galleries.

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Take the ­rickety lift or spiralled staircase to the attic for stunning views across the royal burgh or sit in the speakeasy-style bright red café for a drink before your gig.

But my focus was the gallery. On the agenda was Stirling 900: A Snapshot – an exhibition detailing Stirling’s 900 years of being a royal burgh.

The pieces celebrate the past, present and future of the beautiful city, bringing to life personal stories, memories and folklore.

Don’t let the dramatic description put you off – curator Alice Martin does something I personally enjoy, and provides a book with the artists’ descriptions of each piece.

My attention is instantly drawn to the bright pen and ink on the far wall, Ken Elliott’s chilling series Lines In Time. Harsh and ­cartoonish, the ­series begins with 1824 Red, a ­depiction of the triangular trade, where a terrifying white man’s ­yellow mouth hangs open in the corner, ­devouring the bloodstained products of slavery.

2024 Amber changes from the ­impact of humanity on itself to on the environment, depicting the ­modern day as an urban nightmare. Cars, ­rockets and planes emit dark black clouds and it’s a stunning ­visualisation of global warming.

2224 Red is the worst possible ­dystopian future. The sun hangs heavy and red in the sky, burning what remains of the flooded earth. It’s a sorry look at the planet if we don’t change our ways.

2224 Green, however, takes a more optimistic look. Though energy plants cover the scene, it’s all green energy, with windmills and hydroelectric power stations showing the ­beautiful rush of nature were we to learn from the sins of our past and build a ­brighter future.

There’s something of a sketchy look to Libby Yule’s paintings that make them shine from afar – a huge draw for my impressionism-adoring mind. She makes sense of the flow of the watercolour with ink, depicting landscapes in a style I can’t get enough of.

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Though the ink draws the more ­abstract designs together, she ­relegates it to dainty trees in the loch scenes, depicting the reflections on the water in deft watercolour strokes and perfectly showing her intent of the impact of scenery on creativity.

In his artistic summary, ­uniquely, David Barbara takes you on a journey through Stirling and lists his ­favourite sites of historical ­importance. ­Everything is covered, from the ­Jacobites to the Nazis, and he clearly loves the burgh dearly.

I just wish it came through in his piece.

Maybe I’m just more into ­abstract art, but his Red Kites Playground doesn’t do it for me. It’s far too ­polished – the digital art almost does his patchwork photography a ­disservice and is so over-edited I feel a disconnect between his passion and the painting.

Meanwhile, Dawn Robison’s ­pieces, inspired by recycled ­memory and returned knowledge, bring ­Wicca and folklore to life in ghostly photography. The black and white skulls, women and what appears to be a book of shadows are a ­celebratory sense of unease, a nod to Stirling’s witch-filled past and the way such ­traditions live on today.

In the other room, your eyes are drawn to the abstract masterpiece by Lesley McDermott. Dubbed a ­journey through time, her ­paintings with a shadowy projection of a ­bustling burgh atop them are almost eerie in their beauty. Bright colours with simplistic landmarks, it feels like a guided tour through the artist’s memories and come out the other side a changed person.

El Kerr’s pieces appear to me like torn-up maps. The angular ­drawings juxtapose fantastically with the messy structures of the scrapbook-like mixed-media piece and look like the sprawling yet co-ordinated streets and alleys of this beautiful city.

Finally, there’s Audrey McMenemy’s punk pieces inspired by Mary, Queen of Scots. Watercolour and embroidery splatter the tartan fabric like blood, others hang from the rafters like bodies. It’s an intense and beautiful depiction of the turbulent reign of the tragic monarch.

Leaving the gallery, I descend the stairs to find latest exhibition has just been installed – stop-motion ­animation made by the local community. As I sit, the sound of a talented saxophonist practicing in the music rooms fills the air.

I could have stayed in the Tolbooth for hours.