Beauty on Dark Days – part 6

And so we continue with our winter images as we edge ever closer to the Winter Solstice. This week I have been focusing on Scottish artists.

Threshold by Daniel Fairbairn

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Fresh Snow, Loudounhill by Glen Scouller

GlenScoullerFreshSnowLoudounhill

 

Catterline in Winter by Joan Eardley

JoanEardleyCatterlineInWinter

 

View from the Mound, Edinburgh, looking West by William Crozier

Crozier, William, 1893-1930; View from the Mound, Edinburgh, Looking West

 

Island in the Sound by Pam Carter

IslandInTheSoundPamCarter

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Beauty on Dark Days – part 5

I have now added links, wherever possible, with more information on each artist on each of the entries of the past few days, which I hope readers find helpful.

 

 

The woods are lovely, dark and deep by Catherine Hyde. This painting was apparently inspired by Robert Frost’s iconic poem “Stopping by woods on a snowy evening”. I can’t stop gazing at it.

CatherineHyde

 

North by Foet Frey

foetfrey

 

Winter Trees by Mary Anne Aytoun Ellis

WinterTreesMaryAnneAytounEllis

 

Winter Fun by Andrew Macara reminds me so much of the spot we take the children sledging and this painting is filled with the special kind of childlike glee that comes with snow.

winter-fun-andrew-macara

 

Paris Street, Rainy Day by Gustave Caillebotte

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Now that I’ve caught up with where we are on Facebook where I post a picture daily, the next installment here will be in four days time, with a special selection of Scottish artists.

 

 

 

Beauty on Dark Days – part 3

Our continuation of all things wintry and wonderful.

Scotland: North of Loch Ness by Norman Ackroyd

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Storm, Arran by Michael Murphy

michaelmurphy

 

Rannoch Moor by Rebecca Vincent

RannochMoor

 

Dawn over the Estuary by Peter Wileman

peterwileman

 

December Snow by Eric Ravilious

ericravilious

I do hope you’re enjoying these and will take time to research each artist and find out more about them and their beautiful work. You might also consider joining the #justacard campaign to help artists and small businesses. Look it up on Twitter and Instagram to find out more.

Thank you x

 

 

 

Beauty on Dark Days – part 1

I decided to try and lift some of the gloom of our long Scottish winters by looking at the beauty of the season and how this has been captured by artists – not just snowy festive scenes, but also images capturing the eclectic weather at this time of year – racing storms, driving rain, scudding clouds, long shadows and the ethereal low sunlight that bathes the earth in gold.

I have been sharing a single image a night on my Facebook page and several people have commented on how much they have been enjoying the series and have been introduced to artists they are unfamiliar with, but as my personal feed is closed down to all but my friends I thought I would spread the love and share it here, too.

Here are days 1 to 5:

Clear Winter Night by Mark Donaldson. (No link available)

1

 

South Arm Tributary by Renato Muccillo

2

 

‘And A Soft Rain Fell’ by Stewart Edmondson

softrainfell

 

Unknown (and ideas gratefully appreciated so I can credit correctly)

4

 

‘Like Oil and Water’ by Louis LaBrie

5

 

Things are very quiet here on the Hawthorn Path at the moment, though there is more going on over at my other blog which you can find here…..

Conker

The summer drifts away with every lengthening morning shadow; every peep of sun behind chimney pots, every dappling of wandered path. Mornings are finger tingling, dragon breathing, coats zipping, protestations against extra layers – not just yet do we wish to wave farewell to the warmth.

The woods are changing daily now. The stillness and the heady, heavy scent of Himalayan balsam are replaced by a breeze that carelessly brushes leaves to the ground as it rushes through the treetops, and pushes the Clyde against its current; fidgety ripples disturbing the reflection of the lowering sun on the water. A sun that fractures into a million tiny watery stars, then becomes two quicksilver flashing water dragons, racing each other to the sea, gamboling downstream.

I have a conker in my hand, though I don’t remember having picked it up. It is the smoothest thing I have ever touched, it is every rich brown I have ever seen. It is chocolate, and caramel, and the warmth of the red sandstone of this area of Scotland, my new home. It is home.

This conker is potential new life; a new world; an existence expectantly waiting in the wings.

And for a moment I am Mother Earth in wellies and wax jacket, holding this perfect potential in my hand. I could take it home for the mantelpiece, or I could be the giver of life, the giver of protection, of home, of warmth and sustenance within its growing form from a tiny sapling to a great horse chestnut , future mother-tree protecting all that shelter in, on and beneath her benevolent branches.

I push the conker into the ground, I become human again. Unimportant again. Nature will have its own stories to tell and existences to plot.

I walk on through the woods, pushed this way and that by the breeze.

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Join me on my other blog…

I am giving up social media (and alcohol!) for the whole of August. I’ll be concentrating on my other blog Potter And Pootle and blogging about how different life is without Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. Can that pre-social media world be rediscovered? Is it still there? Or are we too far gone along the path of checking for likes and getting involved in dramas now?

How will I – a self-confessed Twitter and Instagram junkie (FB I have a grudging relationship with) – cope without the pull of social media? What will it be like not knowing what my friends have had for lunch, how much they’ve spent on shoes, or how amazingly intelligent their children are? How will I manage without feeling the fury ignited by the rubbish spouted by thousands of Twitter trolls every hour of every day? How will I cope without filtered images of cakes, beautiful gardens and people looking ridiculously cool?

I’m walking down this path. You coming?

30 Days Wild – Day 30 – Moving On

And so we say goodbye to June. To flaming June, a June of far above average temperatures; of icy drinks; of heat bouncing from pavements and walls. Of walks to school without coats, of dinners in the garden and windows open all day long and song thrushes singing long into the night.

We celebrated with a cycle rather than our usual walk; and took the Cycle Route 75 through Newton down to the Clyde Walkway at Cambuslang.

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These are some of the areas of Glasgow that I love the most, the places that nature has reclaimed as her own; areas of peace and tranquility where once was industry. Yes, we can miss the industrial past, we can be angry for those who lost their livelihoods and neighbourhoods when pits and furnaces and steel-works and manufacturing plants silenced their monstrous, thundering machines and closed their doors forever. But we can also be glad that these areas are full of trees and birdsong; of hedgerows bursting with wildflowers and thronging with insects; where families can spend a Saturday together feeling miles from town although the motorway is merely yards away. It could so easily have been executive housing and yet more retail parks.

 

We cycled into Glasgow, we chatted and laughed. We cycled home again via the London Road and up through Uddingston. Twenty one miles round trip. Not a single grumble or moan from the children. They have asked if we can do it again tomorrow.

A precious day in a beautiful June.

 

 

 

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