The Cherry Pickers


Acrylics on paper, 42x59cm.

This painting started out in the usual subconscious way but the real magic occurred when musing on the red splodges brought to mind this poem by Andrew Young, a Scottish clergyman and naturalist born in 1885:


The cherry-pickers left their picking

And ladders through the branches


And cherries hung like gouts of blood

Down the long aisles of white-washed


But now the sun is breaking through

Dark clouds that dry to pools of blue

And the smooth Medway lies


Except for drops the boughs released.

What is it makes the sun so proud

He will not suck a passing cloud

But needs raindrops to quench his


Well, let him do his picking first.

It was the “gouts of blood” that did it for me!

ps: Many thanks to yawn, pikink, and Hello Fig for having a look at and “liking” my previous and first ever post on WordPress. Thanks!


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