Bolton Priory

Despite its name, this semi-ruined priory is nowhere near Bolton. It's at a small place called Bolton Abbey near Skipton in Yorkshire. The priory is in the heart of the Yorkshire Dales on the banks of the River Wharfe. It is a beautiful setting that is just screaming out to be painted. A rippling river with stepping stones and small sandy inlets, meadows with cows and a sky full of wild birds. I was also fortunate enough to be there on a warm sunny day. I've never felt comfortable painting plein aire, but ever a scene could have tempted me, this one could.

Though I had two attempts with watercolour I couldn't get the 'look' I was trying to achieve. I think the strong sunlight and bold shadows has teased me into over defining the shapes and structure. I have certainly been too bold with the greens, and they detract from the main subject I think. As a result I decided to have a go without colour, and produced this pencil drawing. Though I personnally feel a subject like this needs colour to show it off at its best, the pencil sketch does seem to convey more 'mood'.

Architectural Portrait

I am developing a keen interest in painting buildings and was delighted when I was approached recently to do a watercolour of a new office unit being built in farmland locally.
When I visited the site to take some reference photos and get a feel for the place, I was immediatley struck by the lack of background. As with most modern industrial units, this one is very box-like. Smart, but featureless and without character. Sure, I could have painted a box with blue sky above and green grass below, but I wanted my painting to be a 'scene' in its own right, and say something about the area it's located in.

The only solution I could think of was to shift the viewing point to raise the eye-level above the height of the building. This would allow me to 'steal' background from the distant landscape. This was my first experience of this sort of thing and I found it much harder than I'd expected. I thought it was just a case of raising the horizon and adjusting the vanishing points. Well, I guess it was ... but to raise it by the right amount, to give some background without making the building look all roof, took quite a few practice sketches. And without a photo to copy, placing the doors and windows in the right place tested my knowledge of dimishing space to the extreme.

There are things I might do different next time, like possibly using 3-point perspective rather than the 2-point I used for this one. But I'm glad I decided on an angular view showing the front and a side. I think a straight-on frontal view would have made the building look flat and the painting look too symetrical. So, overall I'm not disappointed with the result. I've made a 'painting' out of a structure and shown the surrounding countryside, which says more about the building than the reference photo ever will.

This will make an interesting addition to my 'Architectural Portraits' site as it's the first Industrial building I've painted.

Bluebell Wood

Well, that's not its real name, but it is a wood full of Bluebells, that's for sure. Last Sunday my wife and I went for a stroll through the woods and the carpets of Bluebells were so dense, the air was laden with their scent. Since the few Bluebells I have in my own garden were at their best I was expecting a good show of flowers, so went well prepared with my camera. I've posted one of my shots here, but there are several more on my website at www.jwjonline.net/Bluebells/.

To my delight, there were many white butterflies enjoying the Bluebells almost as much as I was. Though they were, in the main, camera shy, I did manage to get a couple of decent shots, which can also be seen on the web page.

Weeds ?

Weed: a plant considered undesirable, unattractive, or troublesome, especially one growing where it is not wanted, as in a garden.

Okay, I can't disagree that some 'weeds' will grow where they're not wanted, such as in the middle of a lawn or in the cracks between paving slabs, but how can we say that these wild flowers, as I prefer to call them, aren't attractive.

The 'blue grape-like berries' of the Grape Hyacinth ( Genus Muscari), rampant clusters of Daisy's (Bellis perennis) and the humble Dandelion (Genus Taraxacum), don't look hugely impressive when we look down on them from our great height, but when we go to the trouble to get down to their level, which few of us do, and take an interest, we see a completely different side to them.

The spherical globe-like flowers of the Grape Hyacinth look more like clusters of grapes when seen from a distance, but their unusual shape and delicate appearance hardly fit with the rugged, tough-as-old-boots reputation of a weed. And how delicate is the 'Clock' of a Dandelion when the flower has finished? Touching it makes it disintegrate into a thousand seed heads. And the Daisy barely gets a second thought other to complain about it making a mess of the lawn.

Perhaps it's time we stopped calling these Wild Flowers 'weeds' and gave them a place to grow. A place they are wanted.

Lucky find

In September 2001, just days after the horrors of 9/11, I flew out to America to spend a week in a log cabin with an e-friend I'd never met before. Our holiday was one of trecking through the woodlands of West Virginia and, as a momento of our holiday, my friend gave me a rather marvelous walking stick. It was carved and painted by a traveller who passes through the area from time-to-time.

On the day of my flight home I was concerned as to whether my stick would be allowed on the plane. The recent events had made the authorities review the whole situation with regards to luggage. Fortunately, all was well and my stick and I parted company as it headed for the cargo hold and I headed to the lounge bar.

After I'd landed at Gatwick and made my way to the Luggage Collection point I was thrilled to see my stick rolling around between some suitcases as the carousel bought it ever nearer. There seemed like endless delays as I waited for the rest of my luggage but finally I headed towards the station ... a backpack on my back, a suitcase in one hand, and my treasured stick in the other.

It had been a long flight. I hadn't slept much. It was now 4:00am in the morning and I was exhausted. There was no direct link to a rail service that would get me back home so I knew I had to navigate to various stations as I made my way homeward. I jumped (dragged myself) onto a train heading towards London and found a seat. Soon I was getting off at a station I'd never been to and my next task was to find another train heading my way. I placed my suitcase and stick against the subway wall, and removed my backpack to find my map. After several minutes studying it, I put my backpack on, collected my suitcase and headed off in search of the trains.

My ramblings along the Subway tunnels took me past many platforms, but none that really helped. It was getting busier now and there were more and more people in the subways, though they seemed to know where they were going. Suddenly, I found myself outside. I did the only thing I could and headed back into the labyrinth. It seemed hopeless as I wandered back and forth, unable to find an official I could ask ... no ticket office, no platform attendant. I was so tired now and really couldn't imagine myself walking for much longer. I needed that train.

As I moved along the subway with more and more people around me, my eye was caught by a stick that someone had obviously left propped against the wall. As I neared, I realised it was painted ... and hand-carved. Strewth!!! It was MY stick. This must have been the place that I checked out my map about half-an-hour ago.

I picked up my stick in a state of amazement that it was still here and hadn't been purloined by a passer-by. The very next platform I came to was the one I needed and, after a short wait, I was soon sitting on a train. A couple more changes, a few more hours, and by 9:00am my wife was collecting me from my local station.

It was probably just my tiredness that caused me to head off in the wrong direction without my stick, but was it? If I had turned the other way, and found my train immediately, where would my stick be now? Did I get 'lost' for a reason ... or was I just very lucky that the subway that morning was full of honest people? Whatever forces were at work that morning, I am so very glad that me and my stick were reunited. I shall treasure it always.

Matt Dillon

No, not the 60's hero of that great TV Western 'Gunsmoke', but the name of this Tabby cat.

Matt Dillon belongs to .... correction ... a good friend of mine belongs to Matt Dillon. One day, Matt wandered up to my friends home and decided he liked it. We have no idea where he hung out before that and assume he may have been living rough in a semi-wild state. Whatever his past was, he soon adopted my friend and has made her home, his home. He has already shown the local hound who the boss is. When she was telling me the story a few weeks ago, I couldn't resist the urge to draw him and she kindly sent me a photo to work from.

Comparisons

If you've never trod the valley,
You can never see the heights,
If you've never walked in darkness,
You'll never see the light,
If you do not climb the hill ahead,
You can't look round the bend,
If you're never really lonely,
You'll never need a friend,
If you've never failed, and failed again,
You'll never try your best,
If you've never suffered sleeplessness,
You'll never know true rest,
If you've never stumbled through the clouds,
You'll never see the blue,
If you've never suffered grief or pain,
Real joy won't come to you,
For the one calls forth the other,
As onward we must go,
Don't ask me how I found this out,
Let me just say "I know".