Ragwort below harvested fields

 

14 x10 inch oil on canvas

14th August 2024.

An afternoon perambulating along a Wolds footpath near Huggate allowed George and L space to run, exercise and get some fresh air. We had taken sketching materials, I, my pochade box, FD her sketchbook. We soon spotted this rather unlikely view, harvested fields looked clean ans smooth, a beautiful parchment, varying slightly in colour. The foreground comprised a wide border which contained many tall, whispering grasses, creeping bindweed, knapweed both in flower and with dark seedheads, dark plantain heads waved as luminous ragwort added seasonal sun. The path sat below the fields giving me the opportunity to make the horizon higher, showing only a  little sky but allowing me to concentrate on the essence of the verge border. This was done quickly as I wanted to get ann impression of the time of year, the  seasonal wild flowers and, at the same time keeping the painting fresh. As we all stood there, people would pass, a group of four who were in a hurry, could’nt stop as they were looking forward to tea and cake at nearby Huggate. A teacher with her dog was relishing her summer freedom before returning to work in September. We finished early and headed back, stopping at the Wolds Inn at Huggate. We thought about having some food but it was too early. The day had been overcast at first which suited the dogs, but the sun had come out and it was too warm for them so we decided to stay in the cool of a large tent and enjoy a couple of drinks, the dogs lying at our feet.. Later we ate, then set off in the car parking at Riggs Farm. From here a short walk found us at the bench above Thixendale looking down at lollipop shadows and at distant deer which turned out to be bushes. Sitting on the bench the low sun shaded the hillsides. A few feet in front of us the edge of a steep drop to the valley bottom was fringed with white, tall grasses nodding in the breeze. The grasses were highlighted in the setting sun against the distant dark hillsides. A kestrel glided past disappearing beyond the ridge as it stooped down. We all sat in the setting sun, silently thankful, all peaceful. Here, at the right time marbled whites dance over the slopes but today apart from swifts and house martins the empty massiveness was undisturbed. Back in Beverley evidence of Ladies Day could be seen, elegant fascinators and waistcoats worn by happy race goers.

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