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

26 June

When I look out, shortly before dawn, there is layer of mist floating just above the earth.  A band of soft-focus, hovering between grass and sky.  Our little valley has become a sea, and the wood, an island.  The billowing green of two large oaks that pierce the grey, appear as the sails of galleons.

The sunrise brings bright light and saturated colour.  Millie and I go out earlier than usual, in order to avoid the heat and to walk whilst the hedges still afford some shade.  The paths where I once slipped and slid through mud, are dry and dusty.  They crumble underfoot.  There is a crunching sound as I walk. 

Other sounds – the jingle of Millie’s harness; the light tap of her little feet on the pale clay; the chirping of hedgerow birds and the song of a wren; the grasshoppers “zzzz-ing” and the deep “baaaaah” of distant sheep, interspersed with the higher-pitched “beh-he-heh” of maturing lambs.  They have stripped the pasture of every stem of clover.  They will soon be on the move.  But for now they cluster around the bowser, or gather beneath the trees for shade.

All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson

http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

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

24 June

Everything is beginning to dry out in the heat.  The tops of the meadow grasses are golden brown and many of the corn crops look as if they are starting to turn.  With high temperatures forecast, and no rain for the foreseeable future, it looks as if the harvest may be early this year.

There are more butterflies than ever amongst the grasses.  As I sit here, writing, they are fluttering haphazardly across the tops of the seed heads and flowers in the field.  In the distance, there is what my father would have called a “heat wobble” - a visual disturbance, just above the surface of the earth, caused by the high temperature.  The butterflies look even more erratic, as they waver through it.

Some scuttling, to my left, most likely signifies the presence of a mouse rummaging around in a heap of ivy-covered logs, whilst our resident blackbird (the one with the missing tail feathers) is singing his fruity little song in the holly tree.  He has grown so tame, since raising his family in the garden, that he dares to come very close.  He has taken to sitting on the fence, just above my head, and to serenading us. On a garden table, 2 meters away, we have set out a water bowl.  He appears on the fence opposite and then flies over to the wooden surface.  His egg-yolk yellow beak is open, as if to let out the heat within.  With admirable boldness, he hops across the tabletop and onto the edge of the ceramic container, to enjoy a lengthy drink.  Then, with his thirst quenched, he moves to the shelter of the blousy, perfumed Philadelphus, in order to perform his song-cycle once again.

All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson

http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

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

20 June

Grey clouds blowing across a verdant patchwork of landscape.  Different shades of softness, illuminated here, and then there.

Every day threatens rain, but none comes.  The earth in the fields is cracked - openings as wide as my thumb.  If we don’t get some moisture soon, crop yields will be down.  Especially after the snow-delayed Spring.

A buzzard glides above the sheep field and finches chatter in the hedgerows.  The air is temperate.

As I leave the lane behind and set off uphill, I hear only the skylarks and the wind.  The wood sounds like the sea.

On a path along the edge of an oat field, I count five Meadow Brown butterflies - alighting, ascending, alighting, ascending - ahead of us as we walk.

Then home through the barley; the wind rippling the green, velvet surface.  Waves passing over us.

All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson

http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

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

13 June

The morning is still and mild.  On the lane, a member of the farm staff is putting up an electric fence around a clover field, to prepare it for sheep pasture.  The sound of stakes being hammered into the ground echoes across the valley.  I hear it still, as I reach the bridle path and turn uphill towards the wood.  From an oak tree, half way along, a buzzard languorously floats out and begins to circle above the adjacent crop.  I have skylark voices in stereo.  

Walking along the edge of the wood, the sound of our feet on the dry ground disturbs a number of pigeons.  The sudden burst of noise, as they hurriedly take flight, makes Millie jump, as it echoes from tree to tree across the clearing.  I can see that the paths have been cut and have turned to the colour of drying grass.

The cloud layer is slowly sliding back to reveal a pale cerulean sky.  There is something both beautiful and moving about its clarity.  It looks fresh enough to dive into – a hopeful, pure light.  I wish that I could capture it in a painting, but I know that it is impossible to do it justice.

All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson

http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

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

8 June

The small meadow is going through a growth spurt.  The grasses seem to have shot up – a bit like when you discover that your hair has become too long overnight!  The wind moves across them, making their tops sway back and forth, like gentle waves on the sea.  It is very relaxing to watch.  And if they are the waves, then the ox-eye daisies are the spray.  Patches of white, star-shapes, moving to the same rhythm, their faces turned toward the sun.

Cutting the paths, I find Small Blue butterflies fluttering ahead of me, and have to stop the mower several times, in order to avoid a casualty!  I am always amazed how much life inhabits such a small area - and I’m sure that I only know the half of it.  The goldfinches, rooks and green woodpecker are still daily visitors, and last week I spotted a female pheasant crouching nervously amidst the stems.

Today I spy numerous small orange/brown moths(?) and notice that one of the bug hotels is doing a brisk trade, with potential new clients investigating the narrow-bore holes that are drilled into its lower level.  Welcome.  The rates are reasonable and the service is really quite good.

All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson

http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/

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

4 June

Looking out at the twilight before dawn, I see that a layer of thick mist is wrapped around the trees and draped over the grass.  Opaque, pale grey.  A silent landscape in monochrome.

The mist gives way to light cloud.  A still, cool atmosphere, perfect for walking.  The blue/green blades of the young wheat are covered in tiny water droplets.  Everything is growing so rapidly now.   Some of the grasses on the field margins reach my eye level, and in places on the path, Millie disappears - her location denoted only by swaying seed heads.  

The grasses have a fragile beauty.  Many of them are in flower now, with powdery explosions atop their slender stems.  There are so many varieties; I love their names - Meadow Foxtail, Cocksfoot, Meadow Fescue, Quaking Grass and Yorkshire Fog!

All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson

http://anartistinthelandscape.blogspot.co.uk/