Helen Colledge | adventures in a painted landscape

It’s been a very long time since I wrote here, but through thick and thin I have been painting. As one of my favourite artists, David Bomberg, instructed his students to do I’ve made sure to ‘keep the paint moving’ and my work has been developing.

Several large pieces are on the go, which seem to be finished but I’m occasionally returning to them when I notice something that asks to be changed.

There are also a number of small studies I’ve been doing to ‘move the paint’, keep the flow and not let things stagnate. Most are views of the garden, which has some trees with great character. One tall spruce in particular has such personality that it looks like something from a Nordic Symbolist picture. When it moves in the wind it appears to dance with arms and needly hands upraised and a swaying ‘waist’. I’m not sure I’ve captured it yet but it’s fun trying.

Doing this series was a form of art therapy during a psychologically turbulent time, or perhaps you could even say it was a kind of therapy by tree. The garden paintings began by being more natural and gradually transformed into more expressive and weird representations. Finally, something had been resolved and the work became more rushed and less interesting and I stopped the series at that point.

And finally to end on a calmer (?) note, I have included a couple of paintings of flowers from the same garden. These were sweet peas in reality but seem to have transformed themselves into more substantial blooms when made of paint.

photo of the marshes — A strange scene unfolding on the marshes

photo of bicycle in a hedge — The bike waits

The Lanes have existed for a very long time. Certain families are compelled to navigate the lanes endlessly on long summer days, through sunny autumns and cold winters. They are rewarded in the spring by blossom-filled hedges and magical encounters. A tiny red deer runs across from verge to field. Mysterious statues lurk at the edge of a churchyard. The gravestones will move, apparently by themselves. There isn’t a breath of wind but the cyclist’s breathing is stirring the air as they toil uphill. The Lanes are steep.

photograph of a churchyard in Lancashire — Through the gate

photo of warning sign on a graveyard — A sense of foreboding

As summer deepens The Lanes grow leafier and darker. There are many incidences of plummeting downwards into a dank hole. The bottom is shadowy but sunlight breaks through, sometimes highlighting a river or a pool where swimmers cry. The Lanes never pause but climb straight up again to the flatter fields, full of pale grass with hills in the distance. So many Ways that connect. It is easy to lose yourself and end up adding many miles to your journey. This can be a problem as evening approaches and the sun starts to disappear.

photo of a leafy Lancashire lnae — Into the summer darkness

photo of a complicated tree — A tree guards the swimmers’ pool

photo of a view in Bleasdale — And up to the light

photo near Harris End Fell — In sight of the sea

photo of Lancaster Ashton Memorial on a summer's evening — Evening falling