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

More Morecambe, More Birds..

Herring Gull 

I watched the seagull
strut across the beach,
gunslinger walk,
John Wayne personified.

Sized up the swan,
decided first
to make his point,

and then discretion
in the face
of superior aggression;

backed off

and walked away
but the strut remained.

Did you see that,
how I showed him  
I could almost hear him say.

by David Agnew

http://belfastdavid.wordpress.com/2011/11/02/herring-gull/

Larus Argentatus

Juvenile Herring Gull

This is a painting of a young herring gull. It is probably in it’s second year. It’s from a photograph taken on our recent trip to Morecambe. The painting is in oil on an old salvaged canvas, and sees a return to painting birds. I thought I was finished painting birds, but apparently not; I’ve just finished a painting of a rook in flight, but more of that later.

As I usually do, I’ve put the painting on in stages, as it progressed, Unlike most of my other paintings, I didn’t start this one by blocking in the masses – more the background, leaving the bird itself ‘empty’.

Anyway, here it is..

Herring Gull.

Forest of Bowland.

I mentioned in my last post that Sara and I had driven through the Forest of Bowland on our way to Morecambe. Neither of us had ever been before, so didn't quite know what to expect, and we were staggered by how beautiful it is.... and how quiet. This painting is taken from a view that we had of a valley bottom as we drove home.
My approach to painting this one was different, in that I didn't lay down a ground (to try to keep the colours cleaner/brighter) and I started with more drawing (albeit rough). This caused some issues painting it, but I like the struggle... sometimes.

Eponymous.

Oil on Canvas

Morecambe

At Easter Sara and I had an overnight stay in Morecambe. Neither of us had ever been and we wanted to see the famous sands. I particularly wanted to go with a view to painting them. That hasn't happen yet, quite, and I'm not sure that it will. I say quite because I started a painting which I have since put on one side, possibly/probably to completely paint over. I have painted a seagull from the trip, which will follow in a later post, and a view of the Forest of Bowland, again, later.
Morecambe is amazing. The town itself has clearly seen better days, which, by the look of the buildings, were really quite grand. Sadly those days are long gone. The town is one of the most run-down places I've seen for a long time. But what a view from the beach! It has to be the most beautiful  sea front view that I've ever seen. You look across the bay at the lake district, and the light is fantastic. Here is a selection of some of the photos that I took whilst we were there.