For a few days now the hills of Africa across the strait have looked very close and are very clear to the naked eye; they are a wonderful deep red in colour and the sea a flat blue so that the large tankers and other ships loom like drifting skyscrapers above it; I can discern groups of Moroccan buildings; a lighthouse or two; the town and last night even the blink of a car or truck headlight.
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Having a cold for the last two days has set me back on this week’s planned work. Yesterday despite the temperature outside of 22 degrees C I felt chilled and came inside, wrapped myself up and spent my time indoors; as is the case when you work alone it’s hard to get on task; the result being I flitted mentally and physically from one task to another; I spent a lot of time watching Africa; I didn’t accomplish an awful lot; I think I am going to paint a long painting of its hills with the massive sky above it; Even my time sheet which I had placed in prominent places as a prompt for myself the night before, went largely unheeded. My indoor plan or wet weather route today was to do some watercolours on some local Fincas and make a start drawing up maps of two contrasting art routes from Slaidburn to Roeburndale and Estapona to Casares via the Arroyo Hondo but did not.
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All day I h
ad stared at the large canvas that I had worked on in the fading light on the summit of Los Reales; but nothing was happening to it; by the end of the day I felt less chilled and walking past the painting and seeing it in the same light things began to happen within it; the colour and form began to emerge; I carried the canvas outside and in the dwindling light of a splendid sunset managed to make a great deal of progress on it without a fight.
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Today; the wind is strengthening and it howls and moans around the Moorish designed superstructure of the apartment building; it is maintaining its westerly route to the Ocean; it blows strongly from the East carrying a warm scent; I am in luck; I am in the lee of the building and can work without all my papers and things being blown about; Africa has disappeared again behind a shimmer that is neither sea nor sky; Gibraltar wears its white woolly hat; This morning I feel much better and the work I did yesterday still feels good; I have made some good progress on the two watercolours and I have started on two more small canvas’s of the working farms or Fincas up on the Casares road; today I also got two emails complimentary emails on my work and some interest from an art dealer in London; so its onwards and upwards. At least it was until a thunderstorm struck in mid to late afternoon; the deluge flooded the terrace and a retreat had to organised.
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Being a northern man I am used to seeing Autumn as the crescendo of the year. When its then followed by the onset of winters cloak I view it as the end of colour and the beginning of the greys and muted life. Of course there is the exception of the sparkling winter day, the magnificence of a frontal systems sky etc but in general these are splashes of light that we use to brighten up the months of dark . Here in the Casares Valley the autumns seem to make the world a better place. First of all the temperature drops a welcome ten degrees to about 22C which makes it more bearable to paint outdoors. Then there is the rain which comes in torrents and with it the gurgling playful sound of running water in Arroyos and Rios. Then not only does the Andalusian landscape painter have access to the new palette of deeper reds and browns of the autumn woodland but also a new colour, a vibrant green. The footpaths and trackes which litter the valley floor are covered with the palest of green clovers and grasses. As a painter you are spoiled for choice by the richness of colour. Finally in between the woods and ancient fields the Fincas or Farmsteads compete for the prize of who can be the brightest. Often painted in whites, or warm reds, or pale ochres, they stand like castles on the rise of a ridge or like an elven house huddled amongst the trees.
