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

9 January

Another day of grey.  There is almost no air movement and consequently the heavy layer of cloud refuses to budge.  It continues to sit over us, rendering the light as virtually permanent twilight.  But the birds are busy.  In the morning the small white ovals of distant gulls look like scattered grains of rice on the green surface of an emergent crop.  I hear, but do not see, a buzzard, somewhere above me.  The “mew mew” is a strangely high-pitched call for such a large bird.

Necessary appointments break into the hours of work, and when I can get into the studio I continue the preparation of panels, in order to build up my stock of paint-ready surfaces.  This will aid the fast flow of ideas later.

At dusk, as we walk home from the direction of the church, I listen to the “spink, spink” of blackbirds in the hedgerows on either side and calling from somewhere up ahead.

All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson

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