Tthe air seems full of an invisible spray of mist which gives a gauzy effect, reducing the palette to subtle greens, greys & fawns against the pale blue wash of the sky. The edges of the hills are rounded & softened, seeming more relaxed & expansive, lying back with their feet up rather than gathering closely to protect us from Siberian winds or putting up their fists to the Atlantic gales. Even the dry stone walls fade into the background.
It is one of those scenes to which it is almost impossible for any art from to do justice – because really you just want to paint or photograph the light without anything solid at all. Artists ink on glass might do, or possibly embroidered silks – but they would only work if seen in exactly the right kind of light to catch the gleam of glass or soft glow of the threads. It might be possible to achieve this under artificial lighting to bring that same feeling of joy to the winter gloom, but really I suspect it is simply inimitable, something to be stored & treasured in the mind’s eye only.
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