Ploughed Field - Oil on Board

Walking through countryside as old and varied as that of Devon, there is always some surprise at the next bend in the path. And often it is the sudden sweep of bare earth, newly ploughed and red against the bright green foliage and grass, that takes one's breath away for joy at such a stark contrast. That and the tilt of the land, since Devon is always rising and falling. And this is a spring scene, mid May, and the new leaves as fresh as butterflies just from the chrysalis are all a flutter to be out once more in the sun. The pools are slower to warm and wary of shedding their winter greys, but even their more sombre mood is lightened by the reflections of the brilliant white clouds that sometimes release a barely visible soft rain onto the fresh turned soil as they pass.

This is the time when perfumes come back into the air, and memories of life loved in summer meadows burst free from imprisonment in winter's odourless cold, and riot again in the pulse. It is an eager time and I painted this picture eagerly, splashing the brush here and there and flicking flecks of pigment to create the leaves. I trowelled the surface with a palette knife loaded with hasty scoops of glistening, oily-smooth paint, relishing the intoxicating colours, and only afterwards attended to connective details. Every picture needs some discipline, but it is lovely to let some paintings have a long childhood, perhaps not weaning them until absolutely necessary.

From the beginning I wanted to appreciate the marvelous grain of the board, and somehow incorporate its textures into the painting. The furrows of the ploughed field are of course deep in the original, you can run your finger along them, but not lost in the prints is the thrust of the bare earth, like a tropical bosom exposing its power to nurse life.

And because most landscapes are made by man, there is always something human to decipher. What are those huts on the slope? A farmer's sheds or a small holder's dwelling? What would it be like to live here, with only a well for drink and cabbages for food? But some people do live apart like this, though very few nowadays, and occasionally in Devon you meet them.

Painting this picture I wanted to say something about spring, not as it comes to a garden or a park, or even to a wide landscape, but simply to the naked earth at the corner of a Devon field.

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