I Might Be Hibernating...

but there are signs of life!

Frost topped ridges, apricot sunrises, vapour trails in a clear blue sky…doors glowing, as if made of liquid gold. Each, a singular delight; together, a portrait of a winter’s morn.

“Winter, a lingering season, is a time to gather golden moments, embark upon a sentimental journey, and enjoy every idle hour.” - (attributed to John Boswell)

Something overhead catches my eye. A heron, it’s wings cranking up and down, spindly legs, stretched out behind. I’m not the only one to notice; a pair of crows, unhappy about the heron’s presence, pester and badger it, squawking noisily as they do so. Sheep, startled by the disturbance, pause munching and look up. As I pass, they fix me with a beady stare, before returning to their ruminating.

I cross the railway track, and continue. Movement. Beside the field’s temporary lake, the heron stands tall, head tilted, watching. I nod in recognition. As I walk on, the chattering, the endless to-do lists, the mindless thoughts…they dissipate. A calmness settles. One thing at a time, one step at a time. That’s all I can do and that’s okay. As I take my leave of the fields and rejoin the world, one final ‘golden moment’; a flypast, the heron tipping it’s wings as if in salute, before disappearing into the distance…

Winter is a time of withdrawing from the world, maximising scant resources, carrying out acts of brutal efficiency and vanishing from sight; but that’s where the transformation occurs. Winter is not the death of the life cycle, but its crucible.”
― Katherine May, Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times

I’m wintering. Using this time to experiment, to increase my knowledge of colours as well as the properties of watercolour. Cathartic afternoons spent sorting through my various tubes of paint. Throwing away used ones, arranging the tubes into tubs; blue shades, yellows, reds etc… Followed by a quiet hour or two making colour charts, reminding myself of old friends, long forgotten, and of shades that I had bought but never really explored….

Rediscovering old favourites & forgotten colours...

And for more of my my cogitating over colours… click here to watch a Youtube video I made…

Takeaways so far:

• I really should’ve been more organised with the colour charts; all the blues together, all the various reds etc.

• I should’ve also created one square of almost ‘neat’ pigment, and another, next to it, with the paint diluted in order to fully appreciate its range.

• There are some colours that I wonder ‘what on earth possessed me - Perinone Orange anyone? I don’t think I will ever use them, or perhaps that’s a challenge I should set myself; to use them!

• I really should clean my palette out; but it feels such a waste to wash away all that pigment, so I keep using it up, a little at a time. Surprisingly, I only have one such palette!

• I definitely need to explore colour more. That’s not to say I will suddenly be creating artwork full of bright colours: I will be a little more subtle! Hints of, touches of…here and there…let’s not go too mad all at once!

And what is with me? Testing out a paint colour, I can’t help but make the ‘daub’ into some sort of flower - not sure what variety though!! Anemone, purple poppy..?

Also, is it just me, or can anyone else spot daffodils in this splodge of yellows?

And whilst escaping the sounds of home renovations, I thought I’d make an effort to use some of the paint in the palette - hence more mindless doodling…

Even though it’s not quite February, it’s good to see the hellebores blooming:

“No winter or spring garden is complete without hellebores. They keep us cheerful in February and tempt us into the garden.” - Sarah Raven

Seems hard to believe that it will soon be Imbolc or Saint Brigid’s Day, (February 1st); the pagan, traditional festival marking the beginning of spring. Halfway between the winter and spring equinoxes, it’s a time to look forward to the coming light and rebirth:

Imbolc by Damh the Bard

As the dark, cold morning gives way to light,
And the world shows its face dazzling in her nakedness,
So the twigs and leaf-bare branches,
Bow to the passing dance
Of old Jack Frost.
His crystal breath on the earth,
And the corners of houses weep icicles of joy.
But where is the Sun’s warmth?
Where is life?
A small flower, delicate and pure-white,
Looks to the earth,
As if talking to the waiting green,
“Not yet,” it seems to whisper.
“When I fall, then you can return.”
And she nods her head,
as the Lady passes by,
Leaving more flowers in Her wake

I will leave you with some sunshine…the beginnings of some daffodils, bringing cheer on a dreary, wet January day…

Until next time,

P.S. Just to let those of you who have pledged paid subscriptions know: I will be turning on the ‘accept payment’ option on at the end of the month, 31/1/2024, so your accounts will be debited accordingly. Thank you so much for your support!