Abstract Landscape Painter. Rural Dweller. Lover of Modernist Art and Design.
Suddenly the leaves of the apple trees and the beech hedge have appeared, to fill the space in front of the cottage. They are interspersed with the narrow batons of a collapsing fence. The bright, morning light is filtered through patches of luminous green. In the bed at their feet, irises have bloomed. Rich, luxurious purple. I examine them closely. The petals are striped with white at their bases, contrasted with yolk-coloured pollen that sits atop the slender, white stamens. Fabric is a beautiful thing, but could any woven silk really be as magnificent as these flowers?
In equal measure to this grand display, I am attracted to the buds of the iris. The furled, compact petals are a deep, dark indigo – one of my favourite colours. They sit on their stems like tall and elegant sculptures – the Vogue models of the flower world.
It is windy and bright out on the lane. I pause beneath an oak tree and look up at its structure. Then I just stand and listen to the powerful rush of the air, moving through the tender leaves. It sounds so fresh. If only it could blow between my ears and clear the fuzziness from my head!
Deep yellow dots of buttercups are beginning to emerge from the growing grass verges, and where the snow once lay, there are great drifts of cow parsley.
All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson