I stood at Snettisham Scalp, looking out across the Wash. The sinuous shape of the creek snaked out across the mudflats, a gleam of silver-white amid a desert of wet mud. In the distance was the grey streak that marked Lincolnshire. Some days you can see Boston Stump, but it wasn’t visible this morning. There was something brooding about the place today. Standing here on the edge of the Wash, I had the disconcerting feeling that the mudflats and the water beyond were on a higher plane than me. As if to confirm the fact, a pair of barnacle geese passed overhead, honking like portents of doom... I climbed back onto the sea bank, and surveyed the subject from what felt like a safer viewpoint. I waited, knowing what a change of light could do to this featureless wetland. And soon I was rewarded. A shaft of sunlight broke through the cloud, the mud shone earthy pink, and a play of ochre light shot across the endless Ferrier Sand. It was bitterly cold, but fortunately I was well layered, with knitted gaiters over my thick trousers, as well as my trusty woollen cap and fingerless thermal mittens (rest assured, it was the mittens that were fingerless, my personal fingers were mercifully still attached, despite the cold threatening to slice them off. Also, I did have a pair of thick gloves to don when not working.) I had already been out here for two hours, walking, observing, sketching and gradually losing feeling in the extremities, but I just had to commit this haunting image to paint. I held that play of colours in my mind as I unpacked my painting gear… ~ Today, because I had been walking, I had left my field easel on its trolley at home, in favour of my rucksack and pochade box. I treasure this little pochade box, as it was made by my uncle back in the '70s, and is still going strong. It is suitable for painting 1/8 imperial studies, which fit into the lid, and the base doubles as a palette and storage place for pencils and brushes. It does tend to leak in transit after a painting session, so it travels in my rucksack within a protective plastic bag. ~ A capricious breeze was getting up and tugging at my arm, so I had to resort to keying in the horizon with the aid of a ruler. Then it got a bit more serious and my sketching stool threatened to blow over, taking me and my equipment with it, so I ended up kneeling on the ground, using the plastic bag to protect my knees from the damp. With the elements working against me, it was a case of capturing the essence of the subject, the quality of light, the character of the place. It was no time to fiddle around indulging in detail.
I chose an 1/8 imperial (7.5” x 11”) sheet of Canson mi teintes paper, and three colours, Prussian Blue, Permanent Rose and Yellow Ochre, plus a size 10 brush, large enough to create sizeable swathes with a minimum of fuss. Starting with the warm light in the sky, then feeding in the purple greys of cloud, I took a paler wash of this down into the creek. Despite the cold, the wind dried the underlying wash rapidly, enabling me to create crisp edges where the mudbanks met the gleaming water. Lost in my work, I was barely aware of the biting cold, but as I finally laid down my brush, I suddenly noticed that my exposed finger ends, though happily still part of me, were a tad numb. Time to pack up! I stood up to survey the finished piece, only to have the plastic bag catch in the wind and toss a spill of mucky paint water across my work. I let out an anguished ‘Aaarghhh!’, grabbed a dry brush, swept the offending marks away, then ‘Phew!’ as my hard-won painting was rescued. I packed the work and pochade box safely back in my rucksack before any more damage could be done, swapped my fingerless work mitts for a pair of thick gloves, and headed back to the warmth of home and a reviving pot of tea... ~ Those barnacle geese were, indeed, portents of doom - not long after this outing, the infamous 'Beast from the East' arrived, the lanes around me were cut off, and it was white-out as far as I could see - which wasn't very far, owing to the blizzard. I would have said, 'Roll on Spring', but as the meteorological date for the start of that had already passed, it would seem that this was it - hmm!
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Judith Key
Judith Key is a Norfolk based artist, working in watercolour and pastel. She has exhibited with the Society of Graphic Fine Artists and New English Art Club at the Mall Galleries, London. Her paintings are in collections worldwide. Categories
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May 2018
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