Cayton Bay

Changing Light.
I've been out painting a few times since we broke up for the summer, with mixed results.  I abandoned one the other day after about an hour of painting. It was a picture of a boat on the river above Linton Lock. I hadn't given it enough thought, rushed it, and started with more drawing than I would usually do. Normally I would block in masses, which helps me to avoid outlines,  handle edges, and helping make the picture look less 'wooden'. I don't like outlines. I probably drew on this occasion because boats are tricky shapes, with odd perspective. I would have been better off roughing it out and keeping things looser. I didn't give it enough thought. 

I rarely abandon paintings.

Others recent paintings have been more successful, to differing degrees, including this one done at Cayton Bay near Scarborough.
I approached the scene in my usual way, and slowed down the painting, working from dark to light. The beach was quite quiet, which is always good, and the light was changeable, which is always a challenge.
Here it is..

 The view.

 Starting with a neutral grey ground, I blocked in the main shapes.

 ...and then started to add colour.

 ...slowly building it up.

 A quick comparison. You can see how much the sun had moved by this point.

 ..adding the sky and building up the details.

 Standing back.

 The finished painting.

Cayton Bay.

Crayfish and Leeches

The following painting was done last week, on a day that we spent playing in the river Ure, just outside Ripon. Archie and Hugo spent hours riding down the 'rapids' in inflatables, and catching crayfish...and a leech.
The painting was done quite quickly sat next to the car, before I joined them below the (Hewick) bridge. I didn't want to paint the bridge again as I did it twice last year (http://richardspainting.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/hewick-bridge-and-hewick-bridge.html), so chose instead a quick study looking across the fields towards Ripon.

 The view towards Ripon.

 One of the (American Signal) crayfish

The finished study.

Across The Fields Towards Ripon.

One For Sorrow.

Magpie

Pica Pica

One for sorrow,

Two for mirth,

Three for a wedding,

Four for a birth,

Five for silver,

Six for gold,

Seven for a secret, never to be told.

This painting has been sat in the garage since I started it towards the end of May. I started it, but then stored it in the garage whilst we got the house ready for open studios. I have been meaning to go back to it ever since, and have done so twice since we broke up.
The magpie is a much maligned bird. We have a family of them who visit most days. I could say that they are a charm, a congregation, a gulp, a murder, a tiding or a tittering, but I'm pretty sure that it's a pair with young, and I'm not sure that that qualifies them for one of their many collective nouns.
In flight they tend to look ungainly, they have those stubby wings, but on the ground they are very elegant. I really like them.
Our Magpies, like our nervous crow, tend to stay down at the bottom of the garden. I still managed to get some decent photos of them though, and this painting is from one of those.

 The usual blocking in.

 Working into the early background.

 Detail.

 Session 2. Reworking the shape of the head.

 ..and slimming down the body.

I thought about stopping here, and did for a week or so, but it is too 'clean'.

Session 3. Working into the whole bird and background (detail).

I added a leg and called it done.

One For Sorrow.

Linton Lock Old Mill

I've been meaning to paint the old mill at Linton for a couple of years, and last friday afternoon I finally got around to it. It was a great day to be outside, painting. Lots of birds, including a pair of terns diving into the river, and I had a heron for company, feeding under the weir. No nettles this time, no flies, and no swan guano.
The painting is a little bit chocolate boxy, but overall, not too bad.

 The old mill at Linton.

 Early stages blocking in.

 The heron sat on a ledge. 

 In progress, in situ. 

 Adding the sky and water.

 Fly-past by  Lancaster, Spitfire and Hurricane. The Red Arrows flew past in formation earlier.

 Just about there.

 Ready to pack away.

 I sat and watched the heron feeding for a while. It was catching small fish.

 The sun was starting to go down by the time I finished. Plein air painting has to be fairly quick.

The finished painting.

Linton Lock Old Mill.

Oil on canvas off the old swing.

An Ice-Breaker: Almost Too Hot To Paint.

After humping* my portable(?) plein air easel across several fields to the path around the lake (Thorpe Underwood Estate), I tried to find the path. The easy and most direct route was blocked by a family of mute swans (2 parents and three juveniles), and I didn't fancy a: disturbing them, or b: wrestling them to get past. Have seen how big they are and how aggressive? So I decided that a tactical retreat was in order and would take the path in the other direction around the lake. The trouble is the path was completely overgrown, largely with nettles. Finally, bitten and stung, I set up and started to paint. Given that this is the first plein air painting I have done since last summer, it was all about (re)learning.. So there I was, stripped down to boxer shorts (not a pleasant sight) toiling in the hot sun, feeding the midges and large, ugly b****** flies. When it came time to pack up and leave, the swans were on the lake, so I was able to take the shorter route, through their 'rest area', picking my way through their abundant offerings (guano). Have you any idea how big swan sh*t is?
Rant over. Dodgy painting, but plenty of lessons learnt..and I did enjoy it......honestly.         

Here it is.
             

                  *Humping - British informal. carry a heavy object. NOT, Sara, what dogs do to your legs.

Thorpe Underwood Lake

Ouse Gill Beck.

Rook

                                                            I looked at a rook,

                                                            He looked at me,

                                                            I in my nook,

                                                            He in his tree.

                                                            He gave such a look

                                                            Of scorn and pride,

                                                            I shut my book

                                                            And crept inside;

                                                            I took from a hook

                                                            My gun to kill

                                                            That haughty rook,

                                                            Who meant me ill;

                                                            But just as I took

                                                            Most careful aim

                                                            He gave me a look

                                                            That said 'For shame!

                                                            Before ye came, long, long ago,

                                                            These woods were haunt of rook and crow,

                                                           Of badger and fox and doe in fl ight —

                                                           A squirrel could swing from Dale to Bight —

                                                           Ye think me rude to thus intrude

                                                           Upon thy paltry solitude?

                                                           And yet thy gun much ruder is,

                                                           For which of us intruder is?’

                                                           I looked at the rook,

                                                           He looked at me,

                                                           I in my nook,

                                                           He in his tree;

                                                           Back to its hook

                                                           Went gun — and, aye,

                                                           Back to my nook

                                                           Went book and I.

                                                                                             I Looked At A Rook - Felix Dennis

Corvus Frugilegus

There is something fascinating about the crow family, and I haven’t finished with them yet, having recently started a painting of a magpie.

Rooks are arguably the uglier branch of the crow family, with the bald, scabby looking area on their beaks. However, they are possibly the most sociable of the crows. You don’t often see them on their own – they live, nest and roost together. They are much maligned, certainly in our local cricket club, especially by Fred before he sadly passed away. He disliked them for digging up the chafer grubs, and thereby damaging the turf. He didn't care much for chafer grubs either, given that they do as much damage as the rooks!

Rooks have numerous collective nouns, depending on where you live, including building, parliament, clamour and storytelling.  I particularly like the last one, and I painted this one because I like them ( I like all birds – especially the crow family), and because I recently finished reading ‘Bellman and Black’, by Diane Setterfield, where the rook was a recurring presence. I really enjoyed the first half of the book, but I felt it fell away a little in the second half. If you’re reading this Diane, which I very much doubt, I much preferred The Thirteenth Tale, which was great. Still, I like that books sometimes influence what I paint.

This has been sat in my studio, and latterly on my wall, for a few weeks now. 

 The usual blocking in.

 Working into the mass shape with a finger and a rag.

 detail

Rook