September 2007

I’m in the middle of a painting of part of the moorlands near my home in Lancashire. The moorland landscape is deceptively complex. On first glance it is almost minimal in its simplicity: hills, grasses, heather and sky. On closer investigation you can see the marks of human habitation and usage through thousands of years. Bronze age cairns and barrows, ancient paths and trackways, more recent stone quarries, coal mines and isolated farmsteads are all visible when you take the time to look and to learn the history of this landscape.

On a practical, artistic, level painting the moors allows an artist to experiment with landscapes that are so elemental as to be virtually abstract. Textures of grass, contours of hills, wild racing clouds and the scratching of crumbled walls, sheep paths and old excavations allow for bold brush strokes and expertimentation. Colours are muted, but rich reds and ochres add depth and vibrancy. Softness is provided by the ocean-like expanses of grasses.

Sometimes, I create a painting that just isn’t quite right. Sometimes I know straightaway why a painting isn’t right, sometimes it takes months before I realise, sometimes I never find out! Here’s a painting that I finished earlier this year but never felt was quite finished:

Its been in my studio since I finished it and last week it caught my eye. And as I looked at it I just knew extact what was wrong with it. So I repainted the foreground in a warmer, darker shade. Now the sense of distance between the foreground and the reservoir is just right and I’m finally happy with the painting. Here’s the new version:

Now the painting has a visual impact and integrity, and, importantly, it accurately reflects the the original mood of the painting. It’s my original vision of the real, original scene. And that’s the most important thing for an artist. I hope you like it too.