Meet Me in the Birch Wood

p1170011
Acrylics on card, 42x30cm.

Meet me in the Birch Wood
Where the leaves are fa’ing doon,
One efter the other
An’ strewan a’ aroun’.

Orange and yellow wi’ bright red stalks
They litter the emerald green
Like confetti at our waddin’,
Discarded at the scene.

Ye’ll need tae wrap up warm now
An’ pit oan yer strippit scarf,
Fur there’s a snell wind blawin’
Ower the cauld dark earth.

Leave the Chanel in the closet
And pull on those long black Skinnys.
And fur-lined boots are the answer
Tae keep attached yer minnies.

For winter is almost upon us
With early falls of snow.
And frosty mornings whiten the grun
After starry black nights below.

Meet me where the Long-tailed Tits
And tiny Coals and Blue,
Pick their way through the high canopy
Of rowan and dark green yew.

Searching in every nook
For grubs to sustain them tight
In huddled roosts in sheltered cranny
Through the long dark night.

Don’t disappoint me my darling
For I need to see you once more,
To ask if you could ever still love me
Like you did wance ‘afore.

My Raven-haired Beauty

p1170015
Acrylics on paper, 42x59cm.

She takes me in her arms
And comforts me.
She accepts me for who I am.

She loves me
Unconditionally
As I love her.

We know each others thoughts
And read each others minds
Scarily so.

I can’t imagine life
without her.
It wouldn’t be worth the living.

Her breath
Is my breath.

We are one.

Down By The Riverside

p1170006
Acrylics on paper, 42x59cm.

Riverside
Down by the river by the boats
Where everybody goes to be alone
Where you wont see any rising sun
Down to the river we will run

When by the water we drink to the dregs
Look at the stones on the river bed
I can tell from your eyes
You’ve never been by the riverside

Down by the water the riverbed
Somebody calls you somebody says
Swim with the current and float away
Down by the river everyday

Oh my God I see how everything is torn in the river deep
And I don’t know why I go the way

Down by the riverside

When that old river runs pass your eyes
To wash off the dirt on the riverside
Go to the water so very near
The river will be your eyes and ears

I walk to the borders on my own
To fall in the water just like a stone
Chilled to the marrow in them bones
Why do I go here all alone

Oh my God I see how everything is torn in the river deep
And I don’t know why I go the way
Down by the riverside

Agnes Obel.

 

Let’s Face The Music…

161106-fredginger
Acrylics on canvas, 76x51cm.

…and Dance!

“There may be trouble ahead,
But while there’s music and moonlight,
And love and romance,
Let’s face the music and dance.

Before the fiddlers have fled,
Before they ask us to pay the bill,
And while we still have the chance,
Let’s face the music and dance.

Soon, we’ll be without the moon,
Humming a different tune, and then,
There may be teardrops to shed,
So while there’s moonlight and music,
And love and romance,
Let’s face the music and dance”.
– Irving Berlin, 1936.
From the musical “Follow the Fleet
With Fred Astaire & Ginger Rogers.

Point of Interest:
In this painting Fred’s hands are mine.
I only wish my feet were his in real life!

Under the Flowering Zucchini

161102-dior-under-the-zucchini
Oils on canvas, 50x40cm.

A walk in the garden is so much more exciting if you can magically reduce your height and wander around underneath the plants. It gives you a whole new perspective on life.

I very seldom work in oils now. It’s not that I especially prefer acrylics – each has different ways of working, different finishes, advantages and disadvantages. It’s probably more to do with speed. I can turn out ten acrylic paintings (at least) to one painting in oils (I nearly said “Oil Painting” but that would be too grand for the quality I can achieve).
The other day I was trying to clear some space in my studio and chucking out a whole bunch of ancient boards and canvases with unequivocally failed attempts while I was learning about painting – what to do, and more often, what not to do. Most of these car-crash failures were in oils. Boards are one thing, however, but canvases are another and I couldn’t bring myself to dispose of a stretched canvas with only two or three previous attempts on it. Those attempts at least provided an interesting textured and suggestive background.

The subject came from two separate sketchbook drawings seamlessly joined together to make a whole new reality. Well, it was real to me.

Albino Whale Breaching

160703-01-abstract
Acrylics on canvas, 61x50cm.

“Is it that by its indefiniteness it shadows forth the heartless voids and immensities of the universe, and thus stabs us from behind with the thought of annihilation, when beholding the white depths of the milky way? Or is it, that as in essence whiteness is not so much a color as the visible absence of color; and at the same time the concrete of all colors; is it for these reasons that there is such a dumb blankness, full of meaning, in a wide landscape of snows- a colorless, all-color of atheism from which we shrink? And when we consider that other theory of the natural philosophers, that all other earthly hues — every stately or lovely emblazoning — the sweet tinges of sunset skies and woods; yea, and the gilded velvets of butterflies, and the butterfly cheeks of young girls; all these are but subtile deceits, not actually inherent in substances, but only laid on from without; so that all deified Nature absolutely paints like the harlot, whose allurements cover nothing but the charnel-house within; and when we proceed further, and consider that the mystical cosmetic which produces every one of her hues, the great principle of light, for ever remains white or colorless in itself, and if operating without medium upon matter, would touch all objects, even tulips and roses, with its own blank tinge — pondering all this, the palsied universe lies before us a leper; and like wilful travellers in Lapland, who refuse to wear colored and coloring glasses upon their eyes, so the wretched infidel gazes himself blind at the monumental white shroud that wraps all the prospect around him. And of all these things the Albino whale was the symbol. Wonder ye then at the fiery hunt?”
― Herman Melville, Moby-Dick; or, The Whale