A field.



Oil on wood – 8 x 10 inch.


Dust rises walking along the track. Ragged robin in the ditches, sparrows jostling, clyping in the hedgerows while a thin old black cat slinks in between the barley. The sun is already hot and the the cumulus clouds bounce their way along pushed by the bright gusty winds from the north. A field further along sways a sea of green gold wheat that  folds and bends, rises and falls . With the leaves in the full sailed trees it sounds of waves ssshhhing their way up a shingle beach.

I make a wee film of the field and something in me thinks I am starting to understand a little of this landscape. It is going to take a long time of repetition, of sitting, looking, drawing, painting, filming and writing before I cam claim to know the farm but it is early days and I am on the road. I am going to attempt to write more too, I feel this place requires an extended process of thought, the ways in which people and nature co-exist with the landscape, and my own reflections on walking, seeing and understanding. I will share some of my memories and thoughts.

This small memory of a field is a good place to start.



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