Just into February and the snow was falling. Although the measley half inch in the garden was disappointing, I knew that if I could get out of the village (steep hills all around) I could get up to where there would be a lot more of the white stuff. I gingerly drove a few miles through treacherous lanes until I reached the main road. The gritters had been out and I was free to get up to the quarry.
What a chance to use some variations on white. The familiar scene of a week before was transformed. There were so many contrasts, scratched lines of hedge, and scrub with fences and trees standing clear in the crisp light. The sun bleached through the blanket of grey cloud to burn patches of yellow into the white slopes.
In the foreground the hedge sent up tentacles of spindly wood and little pockets of snow lay at it’s feet. Two hours flew by, with the van’s heater on and off to keep my inspiration going. There’s nowt worse than cold hands to dampen the creative urge.
Three more small paintings on heavy watercolour paper were done. Then it was time to head back via the garage, where I bought bread and milk (hoping to get snowed-in).