The end of summer

It is interesting to see how rapidly these days the gathering in of the crops is followed without pause by the cultivation and sowing of the same fields. Long gone in general is the old-fashioned notion of the field ploughed during autumn lying fallow over winter and then cultivated and sown the following spring.

Now many of the fields round here are cultivated the same day that the combine finishes its work, the giant baler has baled the straw and the JCBs have loaded the bales into enormous stacks (the bales are big and heavy enough to crush a person and unfortunately sometimes do). Then within a week the high-powered seed drills move at speed across the the same fields and a week after that the crops begin to sprout. It seems extraordinary that these apparently delicate little shoots can survive the frost, snow, icy winds and brief hours of daylight during the winter.

Here's a selection of photos of what's been done over the last few weeks of summer.

 

 

 

Where the Waters Meet - a new series of collages

Here are some collages from a new series. If you like them, there are many more at my website, along with other details of materials, dimensions and so on. There are also quite a number of my paintingst paintings.

WWW.JERRYSCOTTPAINTINGS.CO.UK

Thursday's Child

Being Thursday's Child - and now Thursday's sixty-two year old - I've long been familiar with the prospect of having far to go. It seems in keeping then that I very much like pathways and their perspectives which is why I often photograph them. Here is a handful.

Some prettiness from 1949

Honeysuckle and Meadowsweet

A handful of summers ago, I picked this bunch of honeysuckle and meadowsweet. I brought it home and stuffed it in the blue jug. I am quite unable adequately to describe the effect of the combined sensory onslaught. It is only possible to ennumerate the elements of this onslaught:
     the heady and exotic perfume of the honeysuckle;
     the earthy, beautifully wholesome scent of the meadowsweet;
     the gorgeous reds, pinks and creams of the honeysuckle;
     the deep, double-cream of the meadowsweet;
     the writhing curls and twists of the honeysuckle;
     the complex, stately purity of the meadowsweet.
This is all rich food for the artist. Had I lived in a previous age, I would undoubtedly have painted them. As it is - as an abstract artist -their influence on my collages and paintings has been long-lasting, certain and elusive. This little frenzy of photographs was my immediate attempt to absorb them and cement my relationship with them.