Wednesday, 13 June 2018

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

Friday, 8 June 2018

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

Monday, 4 June 2018

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