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

The Sun in the Morning and the Moon at Night

I've really enjoyed the week-end.  On Saturday I had the day off and the weather was beautiful.  We did some household chores and then went outside to work in the garden.  My partner did a sterling job mowing the large lawn, while I tackled the overgrown vegetable garden. The heat and bright sunlight were a joy and I didn't mind the novelty of having to wear a sunhat and sun cream!  We worked hard for over three hours and were very pleased with the results of our labours, surveying the transformation with satisfaction over a celebratory drink at the end of the afternoon. While I sat there looking, I was interested to see how yellow the green grass looked in the sunlight and how similar it was to the ground colour that I have been using in my recent paintings. It's funny how often working by instinct proves to be more accurate than I initially think.

On Sunday morning we set off for Gloucestershire, where we were going to stay at our favourite hotel for a couple of days of real relaxation.  This is always such a special treat for me.  It is set in acres of beautiful grounds and I spend hours looking at the various views while walking or sitting in the garden.  The best view, this time however, came during the night.  Sunday's weather had been glorious and had given way to a wonderfully still evening.  I woke at what must have been around 3.30am and got up to look out of the window.  I saw a full moon in a pale blue/grey sky reflected in the cobalt blue lake below.  It was so still and so beautiful that I had to photograph it.  The camera doesn't really do it justice.  I felt so privileged to see it - I was lucky.  While we were all sleeping it had appeared and shown itself in all it's serene golden beauty, just hanging there, thinly veiled in the mist like a gauzy garment, casting a benevolent glow on the un-knowing sleepers below. I looked at its reflection in the lake, echoed in the paper lanterns and the topiary and felt inspired.

Moonlight over Cowley

(Acrylic on Board)

All text and images ©2013 Carol Saunderson

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

Yellow

I have finished both of the paintings that I have been working on this week.  I'm more pleased with the one featuring Rosie.  It's an odd juxtaposition to put a 3-D object into an abstract painting, but the loose brushwork seems to make it work as a whole.  It's also brighter and the shapes are simpler, which always appeals more to me.

I've found myself wanting to use much more yellow of late.  I definitely go through different phases with my colour palette, which is also heavily influenced by the time of year and the weather. I feel as if I am surrounded by it at the moment.  For example, I took a photo of rain over the garden at sunset the other evening.  The sky had turned into a liquid gold and golden-yellow light poured through the branches of the trees.

Last night my partner asked me a very interesting question, which was whether I thought that it was possible to tell the time of year by looking at an artist's palette.  You definitely could by looking at mine, because I am constantly absorbing what I see around me.  Apart from this I think that there must also be some psychological reason for choosing different predominant colours at different times.  Margaret Thatcher apparently never trusted anyone that wore yellow.  Why?  What did it say to her?  Too frivolous?  Wouldn't concentrate?  Not in the "real world"?  Who knows?  When I was a small child yellow was my favourite colour.  That was replaced by blue when I became older.  I used to ask my Mum and Dad what their favourites were - Dad's was red, Mum's was blue, so between us we held the primary colours and anything was possible.  I think that even though she now has dementia, my Mum still seems to react to colour.  She will "comment" on it, in her way, if I wear or carry something in a colour that she likes, and she doesn't react to much now.  It seems to be a very primeval thing for us.  I wonder if we have a special relationship with it all our lives?

I suppose, for me at the moment, it represents light and warmth and therefore hope and relaxation and freedom.

All text and images ©2013 Carol Saunderson

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

May Day

May Day - a beautiful blue morning.  Fortunately I don't have to dance around the maypole today.  Fortunate for me and anyone that may have to watch me.  I can see why the Romans celebrated Flora, the goddess of flowers (not margarine) on this day.  Perhaps there isn't as much of a burst of colour as there would be normally be, but there is now a lot of beautiful blossom appearing.

This week I've been working on two square canvasses of differing sizes.  One is 40 square centimetres and the other is 60 square centimetres.  Sometimes it's interesting to work on a different texture and, although I use very fine portrait linen, the surface has slightly more "tooth".  This means that it creates subtly different brush marks.  This is helpful when I am trying to suggest the line of a hedge or light on the surface of a field.  I've been using much brighter colours of late - particularly yellows, but also lilac, warmer greens and browns - while thinking about sunshine and warmer light.  I'm aware too that the leaves are beginning to come out at last, and that soon the views will change and the sunlight will be filtered through the tree canopy.  It has been feeling more positive this week, as seeing the expanse of sky is like having a lid taken off the world.  There is so much more space, more room to think and more hope (a bit like de-cluttering your studio - must do that!)

My other recent activity has been to work with a printer on a series of charity cards.  I wanted to do something positive in memory of Rosie, so I've chosen three of my images to put onto greetings cards.  My intention is to give 50p from the sale of each card to the Scruples Whippet Rescue.  I hope to have them available by the end of the week.

As far as the garden menagerie goes, we have now acquired a pair of red-legged partridges as daily visitors, and both bird boxes have blue tits nesting in them.  We are particularly lucky as one of the boxes is just outside the bay window, so we get a ring-side seat to watch the birds coming and going.

Just thinking about hope again - I must memorise this poem by Adrian Mitchell, which I found in one of the anthologies that I bought while at the Poetry Festival in Much Wenlock.  It makes me laugh every time I think of it.

Celia Celia

"When I am sad and weary

When I think all hope has gone

When I walk along High Holbourn

I think of you with nothing on"

Adrian Mitchell

You can't beat a good poem……!

All text (except poem) and images ©2013 Carol Saunderson

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

Sunshine

Since returning from holiday I've been working on a commission - a coastal painting with a rowing theme - which I finished on Friday morning.  It has been difficult to envisage sunshine again, but in the end I was pleased with the bright light effect that I managed to achieve.  I was even more pleased when the sun actually shone on Saturday.  It's been feeling a bit too much like Narnia under the white witch lately - "always Winter and never Spring". I'm hoping that it's going to continue for a while, as next week I have to start work on a series of paintings for an exhibition entitled "Summer Sunshine", which otherwise is going to require even more elements of memory and imagination that usual!

I spent most the of the time outdoors on Saturday, walking in the morning and gardening during the afternoon. One of the farms on our route had lambs in the yard and three very chatty piglets next door. A little way further on, at the top of the hill, we saw a newborn calf taking its first few hesitant steps. So as not to disturb the cattle, we quietly descended the steep path and sat by the lake for a while watching the birds and the light on the water.

After lunch we worked in the front garden for a couple of hours, tidying the areas that run alongside the lane.  So many flowers have died in bud this year, but now at last the colour is starting to appear as the daffodils in the verges are all opening.  When we had finished our labours we sat on the front step with a cool drink and enjoyed the warmth of the afternoon sun.  I leant against the stone of the doorway, which had absorbed the heat, and closed my eyes as I listened to the abundant birdsong.  While we sat there, one of neighbours came past on her way home from work and stopped to chat.  

An hour or so later, after washing and changing, we were making our way down the lane to her cottage, carrying a bag of clinking Adnams bottles, bought as a gift in Norfolk.  We had a very sociable evening, sitting outside chatting until about 8.30pm, watching the sun set over the rolling landscape and the antics of the waterfowl and garden geese.

You could say that it's a pretty old-fashioned lifestyle in many ways, but I don't care.  Slow and steady and the pleasure of community.  Suits me.

All text and images ©2013 Carol Saunderson

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

On the Road

I've been on my travels for the last couple of weeks.  It's been refreshing to see different landscapes and different people for a while, and a break in routine after Rosie's death has been helpful.

On one of our journeys, we travelled up to the North Norfolk Coast, to places that I haven't been for many years.  I had forgotten how beautiful the gently rolling countryside is as you drive towards Holt on the Thornage road.  The colours, patterns and shapes made me think of paintings by Paul Nash and Dora Carrington.  It was a wonderfully crisp, blue day when we arrived we in Holt, which has changed enormously from the quiet little town that I remember from childhood.  Now "discovered" and full of quirky shops and cafe culture, it was a very lively, friendly and enjoyable place to spend some time.

Next we travelled on to Cley, where my aunt used to live and visited the Made in Cley Pottery, buying three beautiful bowls.  I felt a surprising sense of exhilaration at being there again. Happy family memories I suppose.

We continued on along the coast road, through Blakeney, Morston, Stiffkey and Wells, stopping finally in Holkham.  We parked on Lady Ann's Road and set off across the vast expanse of Holkham beach. I love the HUGE sky and the freedom of the emptiness that I experience there.  No buildings, hardly any people, just………………SPACE………………PEACE……………...the mind at ease.

The air felt so cold and purifying.  I felt as if I wanted to drink it down in great, refreshing gulps.  We paddled in the sea (in Wellingtons of course - we are British after all!) and then walked back through the dunes and across the marshy bay to the loud accompaniment of skylarks.  So much beautiful birdsong.

Then it was off to the tiny village of Burnham Overy Staithe, before heading back home for the day.  What a wonderful day out!

http://www.madeincley.co.uk/

All text and images ©2013 Carol Saunderson

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

Endings and Beginnings

It has been a very difficult week following the death of my beloved dog last Friday.  The constant companionship of more than 13 years leaves an indelible mark on the soul and a vast empty space in everyday life.  She was a very gentle, happy creature, that loved people and, as such, was very popular with both first time and regular visitors to the studio.  It seems a cold and empty place without her and our cottage also has lost an element of "home".  I find myself challenged by my own words (24 Feb) to "rise up and start again, even through very tough times".

It seems particularly gloomy today as the snow and cold have returned and Spring is temporarily put on hold.  However, I do know that when the sun reappears, the flowers, the birdsong, the light and the warmth will make me feel more energised and less lifeless than I do now.

Even amidst the sadness there is always some little spark.  At the end of last Friday afternoon, when we were completely wrung out, I sat down reluctantly to check my email and found a newly arrived message notifying me that my painting "The Bright Field" had been shortlisted for the Adrian Henri Poetry in Art prize.  It's an honour to be considered for an award such as this, particularly one which is specifically concerned with the inspiration of literature, which is something that I love.

I know that I will eventually get my energy back and go forward from here, but things will always be different.  In my experience, when you lose someone things are never the same but you do eventually move on again, carrying something of that person's character within your own.  The positive influence that they have had on you stays with you and partly shapes who you will become and what you will achieve.  It makes me think of the very old text that says that unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains a single grain, but if it dies, it yields a rich harvest.

It was a pleasure to have known Rosie and an honour to have been entrusted with her care throughout her long and happy life.  She was the best of friends, and her cheery and loving personality will stay with me always.

All text and images ©2013 Carol Saunderson

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

Walking

I'm pleased to say that we've had a lot of sun this week-end.  I walked to work and back on Saturday, which is now possible due to the longer hours of daylight - well technically it's always possible, you just need a very good torch!  It was lovely to feel the warmth of the sun and experience the quiet and the solitude (my elderly and increasingly frail dog stayed at home with my partner). The stream that runs down the left-hand side was bubbling loudly as the water table is still high.   I watched the pheasants and partridges running across the pale-coloured earth. Those partridges can really shift!  A couple of weeks ago I listened to a programme on BBC Radio 4 which is called Ramblings.  The subject of the episode was the meditative aspects of walking and how having some time alone, in silence, in the landscape is good for our mental well-being.  It talked about the increasing number of intrusions, largely by technology, into our everyday lives.  I certainly appreciate a walk of that kind for that very reason.  There's no chance of a phonecall or text as I lose the signal the minute I start to descend the hill after passing my neighbour's cottage. It's strange to think that so many people are never really alone now.  If I don't get some solitude each day then my brain becomes overloaded.  I love people, but need a space to breathe. 

Shortly after my neighbour's house I pass my favourite tree on the lane.  It's the only pine along the route and always makes me feel as if I'm by the coast, either North Norfolk or Italy - either will do!

Having talked about the intrusion of technology, I am always interested in it.  Due to the kindness of a friend I have recently acquired a smartphone and found a really brilliant app.  I enjoyed basing my last painting on a poem, so I downloaded the app from the Poetry Foundation.  It will randomly select poems for you or you can search the database.  I've already discovered poets of which I was formerly unaware.  I can see that there will be more poetry-inspired painting to come!

By the end of Saturday's work the pale-coloured earth and the shapes of the trees in the lane had found their way into the painting.  That peaceful walk feeds my soul!

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All text and images (except Art & Psychology) ©2013 Carol Saunderson