Wednesday, 7 March 2018

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

7 March

5.46am.  Birdsong.  A blackbird sings mellifluously in the twilight.  He is soon joined by the high-pitched, chirrupy song of the robin.  Something has changed.  It’s as if a great, rusted cog has shifted and the heavy mechanism of the earth has moved slowly and ....CL..UN..K!!..., has turned its face a stage further towards the sun.  They know that, and they have begun in earnest the process of attracting a mate and defending territory.

Sure enough, when it is light, I look out of the kitchen door and see two male blackbirds fighting.  Eventually, the one that looks slightly tattered, gives up and moves away.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a female land suddenly on the fence, not far from me.

I have a pleasing day in the studio, executing a painted sketch of last night’s sunset from a hastily taken photo, and then completing a more abstract night scene, on which I have been working for some time.

At around 4pm the sun appears, following a heavy shower.  It seems an opportune time for Millie and myself to set out on our afternoon walk.  When we are at the furthest point from home, a weighty and ominous blue cloud drags itself across the sky.  I can tell from the way that it trails its feathery base just above the treetops, that a downpour is imminent.  We pick up the pace and make it into the porch just as the first, heavy drops begin to fall.

All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson