Friday, 23 March 2018

Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.

23 March

I spot a couple of roe deer in the distance this morning.  They notice us, but don’t seem unduly bothered.  They soon return to eating, before skittishly trotting off down the field.

A few metres further down the lane, in a sunny, sheltered spot, there is a scattering of dog violets.  A bit early to bloom?  And just beyond them is a yellowhammer, sitting atop the hedge.  They always make me smile, as their bright yellow heads make them look a little like escaped budgies!

There are colourful birds of a different variety on the afternoon walk.  As we come clomping down the track, we disturb two jays.  They fly from the hedge and across our path; their dipping and rising flight taking them to the safety of a line of small trees.  

All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson

Wednesday, 21 March 2018

Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.

21 March

When I open the curtains at 6.30am I see the wonderful combination of sunshine and frost.  The trees across the field opposite are partly obscured by mist.  On the lane out front, a rook is busy looking for food.  There’s no obvious target - he just capers about in his pantomimic style, checking first this and then that spot.  He is soon joined by a second rook, in his intense scrutiny of the tarmac junction.  When two or three vehicles pass, they lollop a metre or so back, with their comical sidestep, and then immediately return to the site of their intrigue.

The mist soon lifts, and after breakfast Millie and I set off on one of our favourite walks - I like the sweeping views across the farmland and she likes the proliferation of rabbits!  Before we even get near to Rabbit-ville, she begins her low, crouching walk: head, back and tail perfectly aligned, stealth on four legs!  The rabbits, on the other hand, are very blasé.  They are used to frequent human and canine walkers crossing the field, and continue to sit in the Spring sunshine, at the top of their burrows until the very last minute when - *pfff!* - they disappear, like the reverse of a magician’s trick.  Millie sticks her muzzle down a hole and sniffs.  Drat!  Got away again!

We turn right along the lane.  Whilst I am looking at the field patterns, there is a sudden tug on the lead and some rustling on the other side of the hedge.  A grey heron rises above the blackthorn and flies off across the grass field.  He must have been hunting in the ditch.

The lane descends steeply and crosses a brook, by an old, abandoned, cart bridge.  On again and then uphill, towards the church.   About halfway up, as I am looking up at some fieldfares, I feel another tug on the lead.  Millie has found something in the grass.  At the bottom of the bank lies a dead barn owl.  It is possibly a male; it’s hard to tell, as I cannot see its face, but the tail bars are quite a pale grey.  There is little air movement, but a light breeze stirs a layer of exquisitely fine, white feathers.  The bird appears so weightless; as if I would feel nothing on my palm, should I pick it up.  A few more feathers are strewn around and I cannot see the head amidst the crumpled form - was this damage done before or after death? 

Barn owls have few predators, but at this time of year, in periods of harsh weather, many starve to death for lack of prey.  I sincerely hope that this is not the case.  Even in death, it is a beautiful and noble creature. I cannot bear the thought that it grew weak from lack of food.

So much meadowland has been lost since the 1930’s - 97% in the U.K. We are luckier here than in most areas, but still, competition is fierce for that which remains.

All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson

Tuesday, 20 March 2018

Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.

20 March

It is 5.30pm on the Equinox - this day of equal light and darkness.  I am walking uphill towards the lane.  On my right, a ditch and hedge, and on my left, a vast open field.  As I complete the steepest section of the curve, I pause to listen as a skylark has started to sing.  No.  Listen more carefully.  [ I concentrate ].  Two skylarks.

I shield my eyes from the setting sun and search the air above me. There’s one!  A tiny, dark dot against the pale blue.  The zenith of their flight is approximately 100m and this one must have reached that height.  But how loud he is!  This grain-shaped speck is a bird not much bigger than a sparrow, but his voice is raw power.  He hovers - the sound pouring out of him - rippling, bubbling and lyrical.

I stand stock still and continue to watch.  He descends somewhat and sails across towards me.  It is then that I see the second, crossing the sky below him and also moving in my direction.  They both hover, almost directly above me.  I am transfixed.  The song is likely to be about showing strength to attract a mate, but it seems to pour out of his chest like pure joy.

But what do they see as they look down? A tiny, dark, column with an upturned face, standing on the edge of a hundred-acre field, lit by the evening sun.

All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson

Monday, 19 March 2018

Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.

19 March

We have escaped the worst of the snowfall, but the very low temperatures and strong winds have created a surface of sculpted ice.  On the exposed airfield path, the puddles, which look to be about 4 metres long and 3 metres wide, have two different textures.  They are part angular and re-frozen slabs and part globular and bubbled.  The snow must have frozen into small, connected lumps on top of the previous surface. I have to squint as we edge past them on the narrow margin of mud and stones.  They reflect the sun like opaque mirrors.

The cross-wind on this bleak section is painful on the face and fingers, despite the hat, gloves and scarf.  I am relieved when we complete this stretch and turn the corner into the protection of a hedge.  Out of the wind the sun is warm - it is noticeably gaining in strength.

I have cut and gessoed 6 more boards.  I finish the final two layers today.  They dry while I do some more work on Millie’s portrait and then lay down a background for a new painting.  When we return from the afternoon walk, I make a quick sketch of my thoughts in a notebook.

All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson

Saturday, 17 March 2018

Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.

17 March

A light covering of snow has fallen overnight.  From the accumulation on the fence posts, it looks to be about a couple of centimetres.  “The Beast From The East” has returned for a weekend break!

The last remnants of the previous fall only disappeared about 48 hours ago.  Amazingly, there was still the odd lump lying around in the bottom of a ditch or beneath a hedge.  My Mum always used to tell me that if snow hung around like that, that it was waiting for another fall.  I have to admit that this time I had been thinking that her weather lore may be incorrect, but sure enough she was proved right.  She had an abundant stock of such meteorological sayings, which she passed on to me when I was a child.

The large flakes continue to drift down all day, but do not add to the layer in the garden.  “Big snow, little snow; little snow, big snow”, she told me.

All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson

Friday, 16 March 2018

Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.

16 March

There is no air movement.  All is still.  The setting sun lends a red hue to the blackthorn.  Lichen-coated tree branches are citrus-green.  The brook that they overhang is full from the snow melt and the week’s additional rain.

I stand at the top of the hill and look out across the rolling countryside.  A line of tiny, distant cars looks as if it is riding a giant rollercoaster.  A blackbird sings his fruity evening song in the hedgerow and blue tits flit in and out of sight, calling in their high-pitched, staccato voices.  I look up at the illuminated clouds, caught in the scratchy net of the treetops.  I am weary, but the privilege of being this close to nature, is immeasurably soothing.

All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson

Monday, 12 March 2018

Abstract Landscape Painter.  Rural Dweller.  Lover of Modernist Art and Design.

12 March

It is grey and damp, but good to be out and about this morning.  We walk past the sheep in their new location in a field on the other side of the village.  They are busy grazing on the stubble of a former crop.  Some are sitting, protected from the drizzle by their warm and oily coats.

All the colours are subdued today - greys, browns and blue/greys.  There is not so much noticeable birdsong either.  Even the garden seems strangely quiet.

I return to working on Millie’s portrait, adjusting fine details on the face.  However, before beginning to paint, I turn the picture upside down and consider it.  Then I right it and look at the reverse image in a mirror.  In this way my brain sees it as something unfamiliar and is forced to work harder.  It makes errors more visible.  I can see that the line of the mouth needs a slight adjustment in length and angle.  As with a human portrait, the merest millimetre of difference to the length or thickness in the line of the mouth will change the picture to one of a very similar individual, but not the actual sitter.  I am always fascinated to see how it is the smallest details that make us us.

I make the appropriate corrections and continue thus, while the rain patters on the roof and the radio mutters to itself in the background.

All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson