Finding inspiration in familiar and overlooked places
The landscapes I paint are rooted in North Yorkshire, but they could just as easily be found in many other parts of England. I'm not particularly drawn to grand vistas or dramatic scenery. It's the smaller, more intimate corners of the countryside that tend to catch my attention.
Living at the foot of the North York Moors, I'm surrounded by the quieter landscapes of Hambleton and Ryedale. It's a countryside of winding lanes, field edges, old tracks and hedgerows, quite different from the rugged moorland and dramatic valleys often associated with Yorkshire.
Much of my painting takes place around Coxwold, Kilburn, Newburgh and Terrington, occasionally venturing further towards the Yorkshire Wolds. These are places I've come to know through walking, exploring and returning to familiar routes.
Often, I discover a potential painting quite unexpectedly. A particular arrangement of trees, a bend in a track or the light falling across a field can suddenly make an ordinary scene seem extraordinary.
Learning to See the Landscape
My interest in landscape painting was rekindled by David Hockney's paintings of East Yorkshire.
What struck me wasn't simply his use of colour, but the way he found such compelling subjects in the seemingly ordinary countryside - familiar roads, trees, fields and hedgerows that many people might pass without a second glance.
His paintings encouraged me to look more closely at the landscape around me and recognise the possibilities in places that might otherwise go unnoticed.
Over time, I've developed my own way of responding to these subjects, finding compositions in the relationships between shapes, colour and light.
It's rarely the grand view that interests me most. More often, it's a small part of the landscape that seems to have a character all of its own.
The Changing Seasons
I return to many of the same places throughout the year, watching how the landscape gradually changes.
A familiar lane in winter, with its bare trees and muted vegetation, can reveal a structure that's almost hidden during the summer months. Spring brings a freshness of colour and the first signs of growth, while summer transforms the countryside into a rich tapestry of greens.
Then autumn arrives with its warmth and glow, sometimes bringing an entirely new character to a scene I've passed countless times before.
Winter remains a particular favourite of mine. Without the abundance of summer foliage, the shapes of trees, hedgerows and fields become more clearly defined, and there's often a surprising depth and variety of colour in the quieter landscape.
These seasonal changes mean that even the most familiar places continue to offer something new. Sometimes it's simply a particular combination of light and colour that makes me stop and look again.
The Places We Pass By
There's something timeless about many of the places I paint.
Old lanes, field boundaries, tracks and mature trees have often been part of the countryside for generations. They're familiar scenes that countless people will have passed through, perhaps without giving them much thought.
And that's part of what interests me.
We often travel through the countryside with somewhere else in mind, barely noticing the subtle arrangements of shape, light and colour around us.
But occasionally, a scene draws me in. It might be the way sunlight illuminates a narrow track between trees or how the shadows move across the edge of a field.
There can be a sense of discovering something quietly remarkable in an otherwise unremarkable place.
Sometimes, when I'm standing there painting, I find myself thinking that this particular display of light and colour feels as though it's happening just for me.
Of course, it isn't. But perhaps that's part of what painting allows me to do - to notice and respond to these fleeting moments, and share something of that experience through the finished work.