Wolds Virtual Exhibition is now live
10th February 2022.
Can't believe it is the tenth of February already...the year is passing quickly, snowdrops appear everywhere and daffodils are emerging....( It reminds me that I must remember to visit a bluebell wood again). Today the forecast was optimistic inasmuch as sunshine had been forecast, though strong winds and low temperatures were to prove troublesome later, as I began to paint.
I found myself above Thixendale, parked the car and walked along the road. I could see Fairy Dale to the east and Fotherdale farm to the west. I had been wanting to paint the hidden valley behind Robert Fuller's Gallery for some time and was pleased to work out that it could be seen, over the hedge, from the road. The Valley appeared more interesting than I had thought, with shadowed contours emphasizing how it snaked away. I need to work out the best time to paint, evidently before noon at present, getting earlier as the year progresses. As I stood, the wind's icy fingers began to grip me, penetrating my warm clothing. It was too cold to contemplate painting so I walked down the road to a dew pond, assuming it would be sheltered from the wind. I walked around the pond looking for any signs of life. Even here it was windy. The sun shone on the clear water, dead bulrushes remained standing as submerged water plants are greening up. I could not see any movement yet, too early for the toads and newts. I looked down the steep hillside at house roofs, the 'Street' church standing anchored beside the main road. I move to stand at the edge of the pond, a hundred feet below, a red kite circles a mature ash tree before disappearing into the hidden hillside, beneath my feet. It was no good trying to paint here as the malevolent wind was again too strong. So back to the car and a drive down the steep hillside to Thixendale where I read some interpretive boards at the old school. In particular, about the hiring fairs, the wagon makers and of course, the 1000 plus horsemen from this area who went to the Great War.
And I remember a dad's handmade model of a wagon, a man who had seen farming change from horses to tractors.
I survey the wet ground and decide it is okay to park. I get out my easel and start to paint. Looking down the valley, the bright green ferted field stands in contrast to the shadowed hillside on my left. Trees along the skyline add interest as I begin to set out the painting. Alongside me a field of square headed tups munch on beet. The valley is quiet, then, a movement to my right. A small dog has come over to say hello, he is a friendly dog and likes being patted. Then he and his owner walk away disappearing round the distant bend. A car meets a small van at the bend and has to reverse 200 yards to let it pass. A tractor passes towing a trailer and I wave, I think we sorta know each other from previous visits. A hiker, with a weather worn face and huge rucksack walks past and we exchange greetings. He looked as if he was going to be camping out and I admired his grit and determination, or perhaps folly. A kite appeared above me, typically effortlessly soaring, turning slowly as it looked down. Then I saw two more, this pair were very low, they circled the tree on the hillside near me. In the sun they momentarily appear as flashes of light. A murder of crows wheel before settling in distant trees. I stopped painting as my fingers were becoming numb, returning to the car and a hot water bottle with a warming cup of herbal tea from a 'Stanley' thermos flask. After warming up, I continued to work on the painting as the farmer returned from wherever he had been, so we acknowledged each other again.
Original plein air oil on canvas board, 14x10 inch.
Spring sunshine
Lights green a ferted field,
While scimitars flash
Murder dances in the trees,
Though inquisitive tups, just chill.
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