A GRAND FINALE: WENLSEYDALE

A GRAND FINALE: WENSLEYDALE

During my journey to explore and paint all the named Dales of the Yorkshire Dales National Park, I realised that I was avoiding Wensleydale. How odd! This majestic, fabulous place is so big and grand I was concerned about capturing its essence in just one painting. As I explored and painted other Dales, I kept putting it off, until it became obvious it would be the last flourish, the grand finale of my Quest.

Eventually I planned several days walking in its gorgeousness, and at first I got really frustrated!

Where was the one ‘classic’ view that would show off this fabulous place?

How could I celebrate the huge upper fells which lift my soul, the big skies which endlessly entertain, the fabulous shapes of the awesome limestone scenery AND the gently rolling fields outlined with trees; all in one composition?

I tried various ideas centred around Addleborough, but they just didn’t work. They were always missing some important character of this wonderful, important Dale: including it ALL seemed to celebrate NONE. A perplexing conundrum!

I love it all so much.

Then one wet day, with ideas and sketches swirling in my mind and dozens of discarded photos scattered across a table, I realised what was needed.

Wensleydale was the grand finale of my QUEST for a reason, I was going to have to wallow here for a while: it was going to take more than one painting!

A few quick sketches in my field book crystalised the idea: four paintings, all the same size and shape, all painted with the same technique, each offering one piece of the whole…

(My sketches are actually in the wrong order: they were drawn as the idea began to take shape. The second sketch became Act I, the first became Act II, then we have Act III and IV)

Four different characters, four different sets of stage scenery, four different Acts.

Is this gloriously classic, classy Dale a Stage or a Play or a whole cast of characters? I wasn’t sure. But however defined, a series of Acts was required to applaud her properly!

The first painting sets the scene: beautiful flowing contours descend from the fells south east of the Dale. Penhill and Addleborough are so distinctive; their flanks are like field-patterned skirts as they swirl towards the valley bottom.  Bright greens shout out – and the occasional bright pink too, perhaps seen, perhaps imagined, creating joy within the whole.

A CLASS ACT I:

The second composition brings the glorious upper fells into sharper focus.

Addleborough has a wonderful limestone shape: a knoll sitting on top of a wide strong plateau, all standing guard over the tributary of Raydale with its hidden treasure of Semer Water out of sight far below.

The grey clouds move and threaten more rain, but sudden sunshine dances through the scene and entertains us.

A CLASS ACT II:

The third painting stays amongst the upper fells. These are my favourite places; the high up ones, where the evidence of mankind is smaller and the hugeness of the moors dominate! Walking up the Roman Road from Bainbridge, pausing for breath and looking north west, the sight is simply glorious. The upper pastures roll and flow; the limestone escarpment of Wether Fell stands strong against the erosion, the shadows and light dance across the fells on the other side of the valley.

Here is the spellbinding, magical, uplifting entertainment of the Dales. I use the big wide canvas and my soft pastels to the full, striving to create an uplifting, daunting, penultimate Act.

A CLASS ACT III:

Eventually I arrive at the fourth composition, the final painting of the final Dale of my QUEST.

Time to celebrate the grandeur of this wide and wonderful place; the majesty, the fame, the lush greenness, a wonderful stage surrounded by its fabulous fells.

The rolling valley bottom, a typical rounded field, a line of trees on its brow.

Of course a scattering of sheep, some sunshine, some gentle shadows.

A place to breathe as this story ends, a place to pause and just be.

A CLASS ACT IV:

A MALHAMDALE TALE

A MALHAMDALE TALE

When we think of Malhamdale, most of us think of the glorious and famous Malham Cove. Almost 80 metres high, this incredible limestone cliff is mesmerising; and the views from the top are breath taking! With Malham Beck eerily emerging at its base it has a magical, other-worldly quality.

But I quickly decided not to paint the Cove to represent Malhamdale; it felt too obvious and dominating and didn’t seem to represent the Dale as a whole, as per my Quest.

And it has already been painted by many other excellent artists! My recent favourite being Kerry J Stoker’s depiction shown here and available from her website...

I began searching the map for other views, and headed to the hamlet of Kirkby Malham hoping that the footpaths radiating from there would offer slightly elevated views of the whole Dale.

It was a lucky choice and I found much more than I bargained for: a perfect view and an intriguing tale about Bill Bryson!

This famous writer (whose work I very much enjoy) lived in Kirkby Malham for quite some time, it was here he wrote Notes From a Small Island, a book which revels in the fabulous quirkiness of England. With my map flapping in the breeze I was looking for the start of a path: the right path would take me out of the village, over a stream, through some trees and up onto a nearby field. A local resident was walking his dog and asked if he could help…

To my amazement, he began telling the tale of Bill Bryson’s time nearby, pointing out the house he lived in, explaining what he was writing at the time, describing his favourite walks. It turned out Bryson’s most favourite was up the very path I was trying to find!

On the final pages of Notes From a Small Island, Bryson describes how a particular view helps him realise how much he loves England, and Yorkshire, and the quirkiness of our country. He declares how he loves ‘all of it’.

But he is taking artistic licence! The view he describes is indeed of Malhamdale, the distant fells and the rolling fields, and includes the church tower; but he implies that all of this can be seen from the nearby lane to Settle. Wherever you stop on that lane, you cannot see the church tower! I later tried by driving up and down the lane several times but to no avail. My newly found friendly resident had explained: Bryson is in fact describing the view from the field path: his favourite view.

I struck out to find it, and within minutes in was laid out in front of me.

It is magnificent. Malham Cove is tucked out of sight to the left: because it doesn’t distract us, we can drink in all the beautifulness of this glorious place. Distant fells draw the eye, shaped by the familiar entrance to Gordale Scar. Groups of trees below indicate the location of Janet’s Foss. Fabulous green fields roll in every direction; clusters of trees, walls and tracks blend in wonderful synergy.

I wait for the clouds to move, shadows glide across the scene. My mind soaks it in, my camera clicks madly

I know I will strive to capture the exact contours of those fells, the exact position of the church tower; I expect I will move the track a little, I might reduce the number of trees, I might augment the pools of light….

I certainly agree with Bryson and his use of a bit of artistic licence; but I don’t need to alter much. This view is magnificent, the composition is offered to me on a plate. I finish my walk and find no better view; I have been lucky indeed, I have already seen ‘All Of It’.   

‘ALL OF IT’.

(available as a fine art print in bespoke sizes as well as a mini-print! See my website for more details)

THE HOWGILLS, SO NEAR, SO DIFFERENT

THE HOWGILLS, SO NEAR, SO DIFFERENT!

 The Howgills look peculiar. They are certainly distinctive. Or, as A Wainwright said, like a ’herd of sleeping elephants’.

They were brought into the Yorkshire Dales National Park in 2016, which seems like a puzzle in itself: part of Cumbria in a Yorkshire Park. How gloriously odd!

To climb them requires some stamina: the ascents are steep (I thought the descents were equally brutal!); but oh my, the rewards are fabulous. Massive views all around: towards The Lakes, the Yorkshire Three Peaks, over Rawthey Valley to the east and the Lune Valley to the west. It is so high, so free, so…windy!

The lower views disappear as you climb; the undulating paths on the upper plateaux are a delight; you feel like you’re in another world.

The shapes are incredible – massive bulks of shoulders and limbs; does that look like a knee? Or an elbow? Those sleeping elephants are very much in evidence.

I begin to ponder: why are these fells so very different to all the other Yorkshire Dales moors? Where are the usual stone walls? (there are none!) Why is this land so grassy?

It is, of course, all to do with the rocks underneath. Unlike the nearby limestones of Mallerstang, Garsdale, and Dentdale to the east and south and beyond, the rocks of the Howgills are much older. A hundred million years older! These siltstones, mudtstones and sandstones were formed differently, arrived here differently…and have eroded differently. The Dent fault creates a marked division between them and their neighbours.

It gets complicated! My eyes glaze over with the geological information, and my mind returns to the landscape I can see.

It feels primeval, raw, immensely strong and unforgiving. Massive sweeps of diagonals; tremendous curves; bleak under the weathering sky. A fabulous place to be – like a secret treasure, unlocked by the climb up the hill.

Shall I paint this beautiful place on a huge canvas to show its power?

Shall I drench it with colour to convey the excitement?

Shall I use layer upon layer of rich pastel to sculpt them in 2 dimensions?

Or…. Or…. Surely their power speaks for itself?

I decide to do the opposite.

I paint them small: 26cm square. I use single colourways knowing that that is enough. I even allow some of the blank canvas to show through in the finished paintings, hinting at what’s underneath. Something different, something other worldly, something puzzling and new.

It is difficult – just like the climb itself! It requires very careful planning and lots of self-discipline to stay with the colour palette and achieve everything with just a few pastel sticks. And it requires more careful planning and discipline to keep those blank spaces.

But I did it!

HOW’S THE VIEW I, II, III and IV:

Down to Rawthey; West to the Lune Valley; Near the Top; Up to The Calf.

26cm x 26cm

Four little treasures to remind you of the huge treasures that are the Howgills. Enjoy!

LONSDALE, WHERE ARE YOU?

LONSDALE - WHERE ARE YOU?

Is it all about the Dales, or is it about the Rivers? My QUEST map, which guides me as I find all the named Dales in the Yorkshire Dales National Park (YDNP) and paint each one, is based on the rivers.

Of course, each Dale has a River – although many Dales do not take their names from them. Lonsdale is such a Dale, it is the valley of the River Greta.

I set out to find it.

Like all good stories, it’s good to go back to the beginning, so let’s start with River Greta’s tributaries…..

The River Doe gathers its waters to the north of Ingleborough, around the hamlet of Chapel-le-Dale. Flowing west down through Doedale, beneath the grand contours of the Peaks, its journey towards Ingleton is often unnoticed as the fells are such a distraction!

Meanwhile, just a little further north the River Twiss also flows west. It gathers its waters from Kingsdale, gathering speed as it cascades down impressive and mesmerising waterfalls near Ingleton: the famous Ingleton Waterfall Trail.

Right in the middle of the town, the two Rivers join forces and become the River Greta!

And so, the YDNP Rangers tell me, here in Ingleton, is the start of Lonsdale.

But there’s a bit of a problem. If we follow the route of the newly formed River Greta, still flowing west, within ½ mile it passes under the A65. Which is the western boundary of the YDNP. So only ½ a mile of Lonsdale is actually within the Park!

Perhaps it is the smallest piece of any Dale to be within the YDNP boundary?

What shall I do with this small, town-embedded, steep sided, difficult to view bit of Dale?

I looked at my walking maps to find out more. Footpaths and tracks head up the slopes behind Ingleton and from the hamlet of Thornton-in-Lonsdale nearby. I set out exploring; the hamlet’s name was encouraging: was this the ‘real’ Lonsdale? And a part actually within the YDNP? There were lush pastures, lovely small dry valleys, easy paths and tracks, all watched over by impressive limestone escarpments. What geological history they must tell.

But I wasn’t sure I really was in Lonsdale.

My photos show what a dull afternoon it was. As we walked, and I looked for inspiration, we were constantly aware of the drama going on behind us. Glances back offered a huge panoramic view of fields and hills and distant fells – and, as the afternoon light began to fade, an increasingly dramatic sky.

Surely this was the real essence of Lonsdale? This huge sweep out towards the town of Burton-in-Lonsdale, and beyond. Beyond the YDNP, into Lancashire where the River Greta meets the River Lune; and the worlds of Lonsdale and Lune Valley get blurred….. even experts on this area seem to disagree which is which. I’ve had some interesting and bewildering conversations!

As I turned to walk back to the car, the sky was mesmerising. The darks got more exciting and the light more perfect. The vista seemed full of possibilities, of different lands, the turning of the day, of looking somewhere other…..somewhere OVER THERE. Where the River Greta flows.

‘OVER THERE’ (Lonsdale) a painting in soft pastel.

And so my painting had a title.

Sometimes it’s good to look beyond, and to blur boundaries!

GREEN RECTANGLES

GREEN RECTANGLES

All over the Dales, often in surprising places, there are bright green rectangles of colour. Their presence mesmerises me. When passing light hits these green shapes they sing out, loudly!

Such visual music can be difficult to capture, but I have always loved the way these rectangles create a beautiful song amongst the fells and valley contours.

Whenever a new view catches my attention I often wonder why it is so. I have taught myself to simply go with the moment and enjoy the offer of a new composition to paint; but to understand why the landscape is that shape, or that colour, usually requires a little research.

I become curious.

Why is that fell so steep sided? Why is there a pattern in the vegetation here? Was it the ancient ice age erosion? Or maybe weather erosion? Is it because of the local geology? Maybe it’s because of the type of top soil?

But understanding the green angular shapes requires no research; it is gloriously obvious: the hardy workmanship and stamina of the Yorkshire farmers creates this fabulous sight. They have carved these out of the fells as unlikely fields of pasture for their sheep. What an incredible feat.

(ABOVE: my paintings of Waldendale (WALDENTIME), Bishopdale (BISHOP’S GREEN) and Kisdon Hill in Swaledale (BARNS OF SWALEDALE II)).

The angular field shapes are moulded by the contours, making them curve and dip, the bright greens ping out against the natural hues of the surrounding slopes. It is often spectacular and makes me laugh out loud! Hurrah for their activity; hurrah for the contrast of man’s hand and nature’s work; hurrah for the mystifying beauty of it all.

Even when I first started painting the Dales, in the 1980s, these patches of green caught my attention. (Here I will bravely share a very early pastel painting which tries to celebrate the scene, albeit a little too starkly):

It is not surprising that these fabulous green shapes still make regular appearances in my compositions, but recent explorations of some high-up Dales brought them into sharp focus once more. It was time to make them the main player again!

Barbondale and Deepdale were new to me: both are south of Dentdale, one is a tributary flowing north and into the River Dee; the other actually flows away from Dentdale and heads west. What amazing places to visit! Both have very steep sides; neither is a place for obvious pasture.

But the incredible Yorkshire sheep farmers thought otherwise: below the muddy brown-purple slopes, green fields sing their song. Stone walls contain them, but don’t protect them from the harsh weather. And yet they are lush!

Not far away, to the north of Dentdale, more green rectangles catch my eye: from the old Coal Road I can see into upper Garsdale, and the glorious pattern continues…

I knew what I had to do. It was time to give these amazingly green fields more applause!

My three new paintings celebrate the hardiness of the farmers and their sheep: Yorkshire Farming I (Barbondale), II (Deepdale) and III (Garsdale).

I will always be in awe of the green rectangles in the upper Dales; and they will always make me smile. Perhaps you will notice them too, and smile with me.

THE MAGIC WAND (pubished)

THE MAGIC WAND

There are many ingredients necessary for a good painting; and different artists will have different lists. My list includes a quiet mind, inspiration via a fabulous walk in the Dales, an interesting colour palette, and years of experience with my soft pastels!

The vibrancy of soft pastels is a joy, and the range of colour enormous. It always amazes me that my same boxes of pastels can produce so many different moods and colour combinations. Sometimes loud and vibrant, at other times soft and muted. Usually these choices are intentional, but at other times a different power seems to be at work, and there is little I can do but to roll with it.

Recently this other power has become more apparent, it is hard to pin down, and often elusive: an uplift of the heart, a joy in the vista and the walk up the hill, an emotional connection to the land I view.

I now think of it as a magic wand.

During these pandemic times I know that many of us have been just coping, getting through, hanging on – and that has been me too. Days requiring great determination just to keep going when faced with more frustrating restrictions, with loss and grief, with worry and stress. I noticed that those same boxes of pastels were producing different work: greyer work, moody work.

A fellow artist reassured me that this showed my magic wand was actually working – that my emotion pours into my work whether I like it or not! But it disturbed me too – was this greyness a good thing? Was the magic wand actually a little broken?

For a while, I decided to embrace it; and walks in some remote tributary Dales of Swaledale under drizzly skies helped continue the mood!

Arndale, Moresdale and Skegdale are on the north-eastern edge of the YDNP, to the east of Arkengarthdale. Their upper reaches offer remote grouse moors that are scarcely visited by anyone except the grouse shooters; a few hardy farmers graze sheep here. These moors are difficult to access: a few tracks got me to overgrown paths; but then sheep paths mis-led me; looming clouds distracted me.

It felt remote and vast; a place that makes you feel very small and in awe of the land. The weather remained grey but some fleeting light was gorgeous.

I loved it.

Maybe some greyness at times is important, it suited my mood; but I was puzzled as to how to create paintings to convey the need for it, yet still be exciting and uplifting. The emotional connection felt draining; it was unusual, and I was unsure.

After mulling on it for some time, I figured it out what I could do; a new method was called for, something exciting and fresh: multi-media! I had been harbouring this ambition for ages (to explain it all will need another blog); but in short, I figured out a way to combine my soft pastel portrayals of skies with acrylic painted moors. And the finished paintings could be shown without glass, a long held desire.

And so my Media Mingles work was launched, and I felt that magical presence again. Was this despite the grey, or because of it?

Whenever I walk in the YDNP, and wherever my ramble takes me, there is always one wonderful, magical thing on offer: ‘breathing space’.

These lovely words were used by the YDNP a few years ago, and I think they are perfect. Wherever you go in the Dales, you can step away from normal routine, from normal life. You can take a moment to stop and stare; the views are fabulous, and for a moment you can just be; you can just breathe.

And that is so good. Life can be put into perspective; new ideas can form as you take time out and your mind is still. Some greyness is important; and I actually love its honesty. Maybe the magic wand was never broken after all; maybe I just needed to keep walking and allow myself to form new perspectives and ideas.

I know that in the greyest of days, in the greyest of years, in the hardest of times, the Dales will always soothe and restore me. I love that the National Park is there for us all, free to visit at any time; a gift indeed. My first walk of the new year offered fabulous weather, laugh-out-loud kind of colour, and filled my mind with new palettes.

If a painting on a wall offers a reminder to take time out, to go for a walk in this fabulous place and breathe, then the magic is very much alive.

WHERE I AM

WHERE I AM

What strange times we are coping with. I live in a wonderful place, with Ilkley Moor outside my window, and the Yorkshire Dales National Park (YDNP) just up the road. I can easily walk on the former, but I never thought there would be a time when I couldn’t visit the latter; what a frustration that is.

(view from Addingham moorside above Ilkley, looking up Wharfedale)

But, like everyone right now, I must be patient.

And my ‘QUEST’ to explore and paint all the named Dales of the YDNP is going to have to take a little pause.

The QUEST (which I started a few years ago) is a fabulous task. I have been loving it!

Finding new nooks and crannies of the YDNP is a joy: new footpaths, new vistas, new contours. Taking time to consider what makes these places unique, each one a special experience.

In the last couple of years I’ve explored the area around Upper Swaledale, finding some wild and glorious places: Great Sled Dale, Little Sled Dale, Whitsundale, Birkdale. I was able to visit the area several times, and collected wonderful experiences to paint during our first lockdown.

I also walked in lower Bishopdale – what a contrast! Full of intense, lush farmland at the bottom of the valley where it widens and joins Wensleydale. I joyfully used a very different palette when I painted it last summer…

And then I explored Cotterdale. (Again off Wensleydale, further north west). At first it was quite a puzzle to pin down its character, but after a day walking and checking the map I found Cotter Force. Oh wow! Mesmerising. And what a great challenge: to capture moving water.

Such variety in the YDNP. 

Last summer I found more tributaries at the top of Swaledale (it has so many!): West and East Stonesdale are near the hamlet of Keld; full of improbable farms and scattered barns. These hardy buildings withstand the weather over many many decades, reminding me to stay strong and withstand this strange season too.  

Uldale is even higher to the west; near the border with Cumbria. Here there is a dry river bed and remote wilderness – a stunning place. It is currently on my easel.

But there it stops.

No more Dales to paint until I can visit the YDNP again. And that certainly feels very strange indeed.

Of course, there are many photos available on the internet; probably some of the specific Dales I have yet to explore and paint; you might even have some you could send me (please do! I would love to see them!). So why can’t I base my paintings on these?

My aim for all of my paintings is always to offer something MORE than the contours, MORE than an accurate depiction, MORE than the scene the camera captures. I try to also offer the sense of joy of being in the place; its changing weather; its moving light; the feel of the ascent, the wonderment.

In order to do this I need to feel it for myself, experience it for myself, walk in it myself.  Any photos I take or sketches I make are reminders – I need to have created them myself for it to work. As I prepare a painting I spread all these pieces of information out on a table and recall the time I was there. The wind in my hair; the weight of my backpack; that stand and stare moment. 

I need that reconnection. Without it I cannot know what is important to enhance in my composition; what I need to keep in and what can be left out. What shape the painting must take; what mood the palette should have; what volume the colours must be…. 

And so, this is where I am. The very last of my collected experiences now on the easel. 

And I’m letting it take time. 

I have the unusual luxury of time to experiment a little (I am playing with different surfaces to work on); and the luxury of time to walk locally (I might be painting Ilkley Moor again soon!); and am mindfully enjoying these. 

I will keep waiting patiently.

DALES PAINTED:

AIREDALE, WHARFEDALE, WASHBURNDALE, DIBBDALE, MOSSDALE, LITTONDALE

LANGSTROTHDALE, NIDDERDALE, COVERDALE, APEDALE, BISHOPDALE, WALDENDALE

RAYDALE, CRAGDALE, BARDALE, SLEDDALE, FOSSDALE, WIDDALE, COTTERDALE,SWALEDALE

ARKENGARTHDALE, BIRKDALE, ULDALE, GREAT SLED DALE, LITTLE SLED DALE, WHITSUNDALE

WEST STONESDALE, EAST STONESDALE, RIBBLESDALE, SILVERDALE, KINGSDALE, DOEDALE

DENTDALE

DALES YET TO PAINT:

MALHAMDALE, WENSLEYDALE, COLSTERDALE, ARNDALE, MORESDALE, SKEGDALE, CRUMMACKDALE

LONSDALE, BARBONDALE, DEEPDALE, GARSDALE, GRISEDALE, EDEN VALLEY, MALLERSTANG

LUNE VALLEY, RAWTHEY VALLEY

THE COTTERDALE CONUNDRUM

THE COTTERDALE CONUNDRUM

Cotterdale is a very accessible Dale which flows into Wensleydale near Hawes. Along the moors on its eastern side, the Pennine Way route offers fabulous views of its upper reaches: but these views are somewhat dominated by the bigger surrounding contours of Wensleydale.  

These abound all around: looking west towards Upper Wensleydale and Garsdale; and south-east towards the iconic flat-topped summits of Wensleydale such as Addleborough and Wether Fell.

Cotterdale nestles quietly amongst them.

But there are other distractions too. Most of Cotterdale’s valley sides are gentle and smooth, but they are dotted with dark, jarring, angular shapes of pine tree plantations. And there are many farms, stiles and walls dividing up the pastures, it is a complex scene. The tiny hamlet of Cotterdale is very attractive, but only offers yet another manmade presence.

It is a conundrum: how am I going to depict this little Dale? I kept looking, searching for Mother Nature to offer something different.

Eventually, lower down the Dale, I found it: Cotterdale Beck flows into a narrow chasm then cascades out in glorious Cotter Force.

It is magnificent! And attracts many visitors via an easy, accessible footpath.

This will be my focus! However; it means I must tackle the tricky subject of water again.

I stared and stared…and took a great many photos. Tackling water means I have to observe really well.

I spent ages just watching: the strong horizontal limestone steps underneath the glorious spray give fabulous structure; I stared at the ribbons of water as they fell – the sudden gushes; the power, and the endless movement, the noise!

Collecting ideas. Mulling thoughts. Letting the composition possibilities emerge…

I started with some preliminary sketches in my sketch book, and quickly got stuck in with some unusual underpainting…watery acrylics on ready primed Art Spectrum card (my favourite choice for an evenly primed mid-tone surface, but almost never used when I’m underpainting).

I carefully looked again at what lies underneath the water, and used this wide horizontal, linear structure for my underpainting. I had begun to figure out how the flowing water could be depicted, experimenting with ideas on scraps of underpainted card…

Art Spectrum card can be scratched – hard work– but fun! It reveals the bright white inner layers of the card which are great for accents within a composition, and offer a softly textured look. I have recently seen some intriguing mono-tone work by Harvey S Stapleton using this method, and it had struck with me as an interesting, different approach.

I experimented further and began to create areas of scuffed surface, perfect for the bright gushes of water that fall within the cascade. It’s slow and careful work, as once done it can’t be un-done!

The ribbons of water were then depicted with the hard edge of a pastel, gently blended to offer the suggestion of spray. Slowly, carefully, I built the scene…

YORKSHIRE WATER I was the result. (below)

I wonder if it actually seems audible?

…I was pleased…. but I wasn’t finished with Cotterdale yet….there was more to be done...

The quieter waters below the Force, where Cotter Beck gently flows on towards the River Ure had really captivated me. Flowing beneath the trees lining the river bank the light rippled on the now smooth surface, the rounded pebbles visible under the water.

It was mesmerising.

And so I realised that ‘YORKSHIRE WATER’ needed to be a trilogy.

Back to the sketches and photos, back to that watery underpainting. To retain some unity I used the same surface, similar palette, same square composition, but was ready to augment the colours as a sign of joy, like I often do. No scratching of the surface this time….just that beautiful evenly primed surface, undulating with newly painted colours, ready to take my pastels.

Keeping it clean, keeping it fresh, allowing the rippling shapes to become abstract, moving patterns. Capturing the feel of it.

The trilogy was complete with YORKSHIRE WATER II and III. Maybe my paintings are a little mesmerising too?

Enjoy. 

EDGES, ESCAPE AND BOUNDARIES

EDGES, ESCAPE AND BOUNDARIES

I thought my title might grab your attention in these strange times of lockdown-unlockdown!

Boundaries, borders, rules, edges…

Ironically, my latest paintings are all about being at the boundary; being at the edge. And although all our lockdown rules and boundaries must of course be followed strictly and carefully, I love the idea of escape too. Maybe escape in our minds.

The glorious upper dales I have been painting are right at the North-Western edge of the YDNP, upper tributaries of Swaledale: Birkdale, Great Sleddale, Little Sleddale, Whitsundale….

The latter is more widely known as the location of Ravenseat Farm where the Yorkshire Shepherdess and her family live and work, which got me thinking when I explored the area. I needed a way of depicting life here as really remote: it’s about being on the edge of things – a way of life on the edge of normality - a type of escape.

 A remote barn above Ravenseat Farm offered me the solution: alone and high up amongst these glorious contours, overlooking a few fields. I devised the composition to allow for some daring: yes, even the clouds are escaping from their normal place!

 below: ESCAPE: Whitsundale

I loved working to this small size for a change, and I love the long landscape shape – so I decided to use this same size and shape to unite my depictions of this group of Upper Swaledale tributaries. The group of paintings therefore hangs together well, echoing their close proximity in reality.

And so the paintings of Great and Little Sleddale (less than a mile or so from Whitsundale) quickly followed…

above: MORE WEATHER (Little Sleddale is that dip on the right!)

below: ELEMENTAL (Great Sleddale)

Walking is essential to explore these – there are no roads here! What fabulous places to experience: remote and beautiful, with just the sheep and weather for company.

But the final one of this little-known group of Dales, Birkdale, can be seen from a road – the one solitary road in the area – and it’s the road that, within a mile or two, takes you over the boundary of the National Park and into Cumbria!

And so painting Birkdale really needed to be about boundaries… I chose an isolated farmhouse which sits next to the road, heightening its solitude by slightly simplifying the huge lines of the surrounding moors…. I think it worked: BOUNDARIES.

But then I stopped and thought some more. If this is all about boundaries, how about I push my own…?

Maybe I could paint it a second time; now using a watercolour underpainted surface which could be allowed to SHOW THROUGH the pastel layer. A breaking of boundaries in a painting all about boundaries…

Merging the two media is a tricky process – I wanted the edges between the watercolour and the pastel to be present, but not too distinct.

I hope I achieved it: BOUNDARIES II.

A final conundrum remains. The boundaries of the YDNP were extended in 2016, and now several large valleys in Cumbria and Lancashire are within the park.

Local dialect means that these are not actually called ‘Dale’; but they are significant and beautiful, and so I have added them onto my Quest list! Watch out for Eden Valley, Mallerstang, Lune Valley and Rawthey Valley….

As the lockdown boundaries ease I think we’re all looking forward to going exploring again…..I’ll be getting my boots on very soon!

ALCHEMY

ALCHEMY

There is always a special moment during the making of each painting where the idea, the composition, the size, the underpainting and the layering of pastel colours transform into something new.

If it’s going right, this is the moment that stops me in my tracks… the moment when I realise the painting WORKS. The moment that whatever it was that I’d intended – the uplift, the joy, the fleeting light or shadow, the heartbeat of the steep contour or exuberance of the lofty view – is coming to life on my easel, in 2D.

I don’t always achieve this at first attempt. And weirdly, it doesn’t always happen in a planned way, despite all my best efforts!

The life of a painting usually starts with an experience on a walk – sometimes just an exciting glimpse of something, or the feeling of the path and the sky - which gets translated into an idea, and then a composition.

Although my composition planning sets the size, the ratio, the content and the main horizons and shapes of the landscape, it also pins down something more important: the flow lines. These remind me of the ‘whoosh’ that I will aim for through the painting: its uplift and drama, its action.

Then there’s a lot of splashing around with underpainting (I use acrylic paint) and enjoy the freedom of big brushes…

Next the surface is made ready for pastels by applying a primer, which dries leaving a gritty surface, essential for holding those particles of pastel colour.

And then, only then, do the soft pastels start to be applied. Some gently layered, others bold and bright. Some blended to a beautiful hue; others crisply edged by applying heavier pressure with a sharp-edged stick of colour.

Moulded, applied, pulled back, re-applied. A process of looking, re-looking and re-looking again. The moment when it all begins to work together can be frustratingly illusive! And I have realised lately that the issue is not just about finding solutions; the most tricky bit is recognising where and what the problem is - only then will the right solution come along.

I take time, allow the painting to settle in my mind. I refresh, nudge, alter. When worked onto a good gritty surface soft pastels are so forgiving: I can take them off, add to them, re-layer.

And then finally I step back from my easel to look one more time and I realise…. It has happened again and I can sleep easy.

Is it the moorland walk, the idea, the flow lines, the paint, the colours, or the layering of soft pastel that creates the alchemy?

I don’t know. But I know it happens.

(Full painting to be revealed later this year).

DIFFERENCES IN THE DALES

DIFFERENCES IN THE DALES

I was never very good at the sciences when I was at school, except for geography. Perhaps it’s because geography is so visual and because I lived in the Yorkshire Dales – I knew exactly what limestone pavements looked like as I’d walked on them!  

Maps made sense to me too – all that measuring of distance and pictorial stuff – I found them quite straightforward. Perhaps I just had great geography teachers.

But my QUEST to paint all the named Dales of the YDNP (Yorkshire Dales National Park) created more questions than geography could answer alone. I have recently surprised myself by overcoming a long-held fear of other sciences, adding books on geology to my reading list. What fascinating stories they uncover! Together, these subjects answer many of my ‘whys’.

WHY is this valley bottom so flat? WHY is that moor top rounded and that one horizontal? WHY are those slopes so diagonal?

My QUEST requires me to consider each Dale and observe it intimately – in what way is it similar to its neighbour? In what way is it different? Digging deeper into my old and new textbooks is a way of understanding better.

Two of Wharfedale’s tributaries are a great example….

Langstrothdale and Littondale both flow into Wharfedale from the west.

Littondale and Langstrothdale are separated by just one lovely shoulder of moor.

Each flow from the north-west roughly south-eastwards into Wharfedale. At the top of Littondale the walk over into Langstrothdale is only 3km. (Albeit up a very big ascent and back down a very large descent!)

Upper Littondale has fabulously steep diagonal sides with impressive limestone escarpments and scree, as shown in A LITTLE BIT OF LITTONDALE, pictured below. But take the Dale as a whole, and it mainly has a wide flat base where the River Skirfare lazily meanders. This classic ‘U’-shape was created in the ice-age melts, when the glaciers gouged out the space. As it joins Upper Wharfedale, which is also ‘U’-shaped, the contours of the two Dales converge and dance together fluidly: as depicted in MEET AND GREET below.

But over the hill in Langstrothdale, the young River Wharfe flows along a very different valley. Here the sides form the classic ‘V’ shape of an upper valley. My composition is from above (and looking southwards) – but the different ‘V’ shape is clearly visible as Langstrothdale flows down towards Wharfedale in the left of my painting: WHATEVER THE WEATHER.

My understanding is that the steeper gradient of the upper valley forms this steeper shape. But I am also puzzled: like neighbouring Littondale, Langstrothdale would have also contained a glacier in the ice age. Perhaps the smaller glacier in the smaller valley had less power to gouge out the valley sides? Or is it because of different characteristics in the underlying rock?

Gradually I uncover more of the ancient geographical and geological stories. I share my fascination by peeling back the layers in a painting of nearby Buckden Pike – the pastel colour makes way for the lithological symbols, depicting (hopefully accurately!) the underlying Yoredale rock layers of mudstones, limestones and siltstones in YOREDALE UNCOVERED.

What a lot to learn.,,,,, What a lot to uncover!

DO THESE COUNT?

DO THESE COUNT?

(the retrospectives…)

The idea of exploring and painting all the named Dales of the Yorkshire Dales National Park (YDNP) was always going to be a long haul and a bit fuzzy around the edges. It sounds easy to define – paint all the Dales on the list supplied by the YDNP rangers – and tick them off one by one.

Currently the list has a grand total of 44 Dales (boundary changes of the YDNP in 2016 added a few), most draining to the North Sea but several draining to the Irish Sea in the West.

My latest conquests have been on the western boundaries near Ingleborough and further north near the upper reaches of western Swaledale.

The beautiful moors above Doedale often go unnoticed as Ingleborough dominates the scene across the valley; and the light on the remote barren moors between Great Sled Dale and Little Sled Dale (tributaries to Swaledale) often dances unseen. I depicted these wonderful spaces using small compositions to be simple and powerful in ‘OVER-SHADOWED’ and ‘MORE WEATHER’:

But what about pictures I painted four or five years ago when the QUEST idea was just forming, do they count? And what about those from even longer ago, do those check-off on my list?

Perhaps it depends on how I captured each Dale. Maybe the question is whether these retrospectives still convey what I’d like to convey about these places? Do they offer you the experience of being in that Dale, on that moor? Do they put the wind in your hair?  

A few years ago I focused on the Three Peak area and the big drama there, with compositions such as ‘I AM INGLEBOROUGH’ and ‘UP AND DOWN WHERNSIDE’. I think they still speak for themselves…

…so that allows me to check off Silverdale (below Ingleborough) and Ribblesdale (flowing south from Whernside)!

I also previously captured the big drama around Swaledale, with compositions of its glorious upper reaches and its distinctive barns, in ‘SWALEDALE BARNS I’ and ‘SWALEDALE BARNS II’:

Having walked in this area very recently, these still work for me! But there are other characterful aspects of Swaledale – I love the way it journeys eastwards, swaying from side to side, creating fabulous patterns of swooping contours amongst the fields. I will definitely paint it again one day.

Dentdale has a different remoteness and quiet charm. I have painted it twice: once when the horizon of Middleton Fell slowly emerged from an early morning mist, and another time capturing the huge moorside of Aye Gill Pike in a triptych (which was a large paintig, even though it looks small here!):

I still like both paintings… but I think Dentdale also deserves another visit, yet another Dale with several different sides to its character.

Much closer to my home in Ilkley, Airedale is just over the moor. Scenes in Airedale change substantially along its route – from the industry around Bingley and Saltaire to beautiful farmlands around Skipton and beyond. Nearest my home mid-Airedale has a gentle pastoral quality, which I captured when the stone stiles caught my attention a few years ago: ‘YORKSHIRE STYLE I’ and YORKSHIRE STYLE II’.

Each stile is a unique sculpture of stone, a signature of the local dry wall craftsman, and an invitation to wander the footpaths and fields whilst the walls keep the livestock safe. I hope I have done them justice and earnt Airedale a tick on the list.

So many vistas, big dramatic places, other secret landscapes, other places in-between. Some Dales with one character, others with many. My list feels a little endless as I continue to explore - but I’m loving its fuzziness and lack of time scale.

Gradually the checked-off list grows bigger. Despite the fuzziness, I think I’m about half way there!

A RIGHT ROYAL PUZZLE

A RIGHT ROYAL PUZZLE…

Spending time out in the Dales is always a pleasure – and the area near Ingleton is astounding. Here at the Western edge of the Yorkshire Dales National Park (YDNP) is some of the most spectacular scenery – this is THREE PEAK’S country!

Just in to the Park from Ingleton, Ingleborough towers above the Dale with its challenging shapes: ancient horizontal limestone steps and steep plunging slopes of scree. (photo taken on my walk)

Mesmerising.

A couple of miles north is the huge curving shoulder of Whernside (photo below), formed by the strong and mighty millstone grit over-layering the limestone.

Big scenery indeed.

I enjoy my ramble and drink it all in – then look again. Trying to ignore these iconic peaks is tricky, but if you re-focus you are richly rewarded.

Just below Whernside to the north is KINGSDALE with incredible scenery of its own on offer. What an amazing find - with more geological puzzles to solve…

My sketch foreshortens it – the distance you see from its upper contours on the left to the curious bump in the valley bottom on the right is 3 miles. Whernside and Ingleborough peak out above Kingsdale’s upper moors to the south, trying to attract your attention. But I ignore them and enjoy Kingsdale itself.

Kingsdale Beck travels towards the west (to the right in my sketch); once it leaves this part of the valley it crashes down Ingleton Falls and eventually drains into the Irish Sea. To explain the Dale’s strange shapes requires quite a lot of geological knowledge, and a re-visit to the ice-age. That odd bump at its western end is terminal moraine – glacial debris leftover when the ice melted. This damned the valley, and a meltwater lake formed here – imagine this filled by a lake…

(Photo looks up the Dale towards the east, taken from the terninal moraine bump)

Eventually the water found a way through the bump of terminal moraine, and the lake drained away. But the silt it left behind created rich fertile soil – fabulous pasturelands protected on three sides by huge moors and on the fourth by our small bumpy hillock….

What a lot to take in! I gaze again at the strong upper contours and begin to find my compositions here….

With the royal-sounding name I muse that the real dominant forces are the underlying rocks and the weather itself, and I focus on those.

At the top of the dale the underlying millstone grit creates beautiful rounded contours; a few stone walls try to tame this high landscape but the clouds seem to be the star performer; what a joy to celebrate them in ‘CROWNING GLORY’…

Yorkshire Dales’ weather can change quickly: later the same day the sky cleared, suddenly showing off more of its beautiful blue.

The moors flanking the northern side of the dale are a celebration of limestone, and the sudden sunshine allowed the greens to dance amongst the escarpments. I thought my painting aptly named: ‘ROYAL BLUE’.

But a puzzle remained… I hadn’t yet discovered the origins of the Dale’s royal-sounding name. I turned to my friends at the YDNP for help…

Their answer was quite conclusive: ‘Kyen’ is an ancient norse word; and ‘Dael’ is old English. Put them together and ‘Kingsdale’ emerges. But the meaning?

Well, it turns out that the locals understood the real gem of this beautiful valley, and it goes back to that rich pasture formed on the silt from the ancient glacial lake. Beautiful pasture usefully protected on all sides….. ‘KYENDAEL’ means ‘the valley where the cows are kept’!

Maybe I need to refocus again?

UNTAMED APEDALE

APEDALE..NO APES?

Throughout the Yorkshire Dales I have found some baffling place names, but Apedale has to be one of the strangest. There were never any apes here; but this wonderful place offers up some amazing stories.

Exploring by foot simply intrigued me further. Apedale is a fabulous, barren, wild Dale, hiding in the contours way above Swaledale and Wensleydale…

(the photos below are from one of my walks…)

…I looked closely but the top layer can only hint at the past. Rather than dig into geology, this time I dug into the history books, wondering what tales might be revealed.

I have always been curious about how our land can be used, abused, invaded, and inhabited, yet still restore itself. My home town of Ilkley is a merging of various ancient hamlets and villages, and even a Roman Fort settlement! Little of these remain.

Just above the town on a glorious south facing slope is a building known as the Monastery. It overlooks a large beautiful lush green field of pasture. Stopping to catch my breath as I walk up its steep hill, I envy the sheep grazing here; their field catches all of the sunshine and has a superb view of Ilkley Moor. (photo from my walk below)

But the field is not as it seems.

In the 15th Century, this very spot was full of buildings: the hamlet of Scalewray. There were tracks and homes, outbuildings and enclosures – now all long gone. No-one knows why Scalewray, in its fine location, was abandoned. Now restored by nature I only see rich top soil and grass. Some series of slight undulations offer the specialists tantalising traces of earthworks and buried remains. This innocent-looking field actually has ‘monument’ status!

(visit Historic England to see  the 'monument' area marked on a map:
https://historicengland.org.uk/listing/the-list/list-entry/1020716)

So I am well aware that some seemingly raw, uninhabited places might have startling stories to tell; and a bit of internet digging is all it takes to find them…

 Returning to our Dale nestling in the high contours between Swaledale and Wensleydale, I discover that in the 7th - 8th centuries it was chosen as a place for settlement by the invading Norsemen. I guess there were several fresh springs, wooded slopes, some protection in the dip of the valley from the weather, and good views from its upper reaches to spot any encroaching trouble.

(first pencil sketch of my composition plan below)

And here is the explanation of the strange name! These Norsemen were known locally as the ‘Appi’ people. The ‘Valley of the Appi’ gradually shortened to become Apedale.

That settlement eventually faded; but this barren place was going to offer up more riches. Seams of iron ore and coal were discovered close to the surface – they were easy to mine. By the 19th century Apedale was a hive of industry: four different collieries sank deep shafts into this land. Their pit head buildings, chimneys and transportation railway tracks scarred the landscape; their hard working miners a daily presence.

Yet now, just a hundred years later, that industry is gone. Only some small ruined stone-works remain, gradually sinking into the peaty surface.

The restoring power of nature amazes me. I planned my painting with wild, exciting colours, striving to convey that strength.

(my layer of underpainting, ready for soft pastel)

Today the Dale buzzes with noise only in the grouse shooting season, some lines of grouse butts mar the smooth horizons.

Despite our best attempts to tame it, I like to think this place is still wild…

(My soft pastels build the clouds…)

 …Walk here and the wind will whip your face as the clouds dance and the grouse fly up from the heather. Scarred, barren, but still itself.

Naming my painting was easy….. UNTAMED.

The Bits Inbetween

The Bits Inbetween

The Yorkshire Dales are so sculptural: I love these 3D maps showing the stunning contours, dips, dales, u-shapes, v-shapes and big wide moor shapes. Capturing any of it on my 2D canvas is always going to be a challenge; just one of the many challenges along the way!

Each named Dale has, of course, a very specific place – usually identified by its river or beck and the journey of that water along the valley bottom. Although I enjoy walks by any beck or river, some of my favourite places are further up the contours, where the space feels bigger, the vistas exciting, and the weather and skies entertain.

These are the places of the watersheds – the boundaries between the Dales.

When I painted ‘WATERSHED’ a couple of years ago (between Wharfedale and Wensleydale), I mused at the abundance of these places:

‘the watershed is the point where here the water flows in one direction into one catchment basin rather than there where it flows another way into a different valley and a different river. And so the Yorkshire Dales are riddled with them…..’

I am now wondering whether the watersheds move over time - when a new spring bubbles up here and another over there sinks into the underground maze of limestone cavities? Maybe these spaces are more fluid than we think, somewhat fuzzy on our maps, and a little bit undefined?

But I love them!

(‘HEATHER BOTH WAYS’, above Wharfedale and Washburndale – image below)

Often, when you are so high, you can no longer see into the lower parts of the nearby Dale. You know it is there, in a comforting way – with its pubs and cafes and car parks. But up here you feel removed from the normal pace of life; here is a place to sing, shout, be uplifted by the emptiness and hugeness.

Looking at my watercolour map of the YDNP I realise that it is these places - the places around the watersheds -  that fill a great deal of the map. All those expanses that I have depicted in purply hues! In the hundreds of square miles of the Dales (there are evidently 841 sq miles in total), only a fraction are the valley bottoms and running waters. An awful lot are the beautiful spaces inbetween.

It is therefore not surprising that these spaces are the focus of many of my compositions!

‘ABOVE KETTLEWELL WITH SHEEP’

Here I enjoy the bright green pastures of some of the upper limestone scenery above Kettlewell (the purples were an oversimplification on my map). From these upper moors you can look straight over the valleys, across the hidden valley bottoms to the moors opposite; across Wharfedale towards the distant contours of Littondale.

The moors between Sleddale and Widdale are celebrated in my painting ‘SLEDDALE GRIT’, and the upper contours between Coverdale and upper Nidderdale in ‘A PLACE TO PIROUETTE’…..

And most recently, here are the moors between mid-Wharfedale and mid-Nidderdale, shown in their glorious orangey winter hues…

It was choosing a title for this which got me thinking: I called it ‘BETWEEN’.

Special places indeed, places we are lucky to have. They are a huge part of my connection with the YDNP.

As I continue on my quest to paint all the named Dales, I must find a way to count these fabulous bits inbetween…. any suggestions?

If you’d like to receive this BLOG via email, simply email me with the words ‘join the quest’ and I’ll add you to my mailing list. Email: luci@luciasmith.co.uk.

New finds in old places

New Finds in Old Places

I have come across some fabulous ‘new finds’ in the Yorkshire Dales National Park. Of course, they are only new to me – these are ancient places with huge tales to tell – stories that span millennia.

My latest find is Mossdale.

I was rather staggered when I realised there was a tributary Dale to Wharfedale that I’d not heard of and never visited. But as it doesn’t have a tea shop, a tarmac road, or a pub, I had to take a good look at the map to find it at all!

It is hiding on the upper fells above the well-known confluence of Wharfedale and Littondale. From this angle above Consitone (depicted in MEET AND GREET below), Mossdale is literally hiding behind you.

Take the bridle track which starts in Conistone and head away from Wharfedale towards the fells. It is a three mile journey but the track offers easy walking all the way, and after the first steep bit behind Conistone the ascent is quite gentle.

Oddly placed on the high-up plateau of grasslands the Dale takes shape as you approach. You become aware of a dry river bed following the track, a heather-clad slope ahead entertains you with its abrupt change of colour. You can hear a gushing waterfall, but there is no sign of its whereabouts.

What a puzzle! My new understandings of geology help me understand: layers of millstone grit mainly lie on top of the limestone on these upper fells (as shown in my LITHOLOGICAL SKETCH of MEET AND GREET above), but in some places the millstone grit has been eroded and it is the limestone which sits just beneath the top soils.

The personality differences of these rocks explain the odd scene before us; the sudden changes of underlying rock showing on the surface in the sharp changes of contour and vegetation colour. There are rounded contours formed by millstone grit covered in purple heather, suddenly giving way to wide flat grasslands supported by the well-drained top soils of the limestone.

Pinning down a composition to make it behave was quite a task: MOSSDALE MISCHIEF seemed an apt name!

But Mossdale wasn’t finished with me yet: it had a glorious final piece of magical trickery for me to find. After gathering in the springs of the uplands, Mossdale Beck meanders quietly across the wide valley bottom of the Dale then…. suddenly disappears!

The Beck favours a different route to the old dry river bed of previous years; it now noisily plunges underground into a hole at the base of a limestone outcrop.

I was mesmerised. The mysterious sound of that gushing waterfall was now explained - I am told by our friends at the YDNP that after descending into the pothole, the Beck joins the River Wharfe a few miles away underground. As I sat and looked I knew I had to paint it.

Capturing water is quite a challenge: but observation is always the key. Lots of photos of the Beck and visits to other rivers to study and watch water flow were required, and gradually the composition took shape.

Soft pastels are wonderfully forgiving and eventually I managed to sort out the textures and movement: Mossdale’s DISAPPEARING ACT.

Thank you, Mossdale, for your magical entertainment.

……I wonder what my next find will be?

If you’d like to receive this BLOG via email, simply email me with the words ‘join the quest’ and I’ll add you to my mailing list. Email: luci@luciasmith.co.uk.

A SEASONAL DISTRACTION!

snow already?

surely not!

a seasonal distraction…

Painting Wharfedale in any weather is wonderful – it is a Dale of so many contours and vistas, so many favourite places. Having lived here most of my life I have watched it change through many annual seasons – and none is more mesmerising than SNOW!

A wintery blanket changes everything: the light, the focal points, the colour. Snow covered contours seem completely different: snow textures the steep slopes of rocky vegetation, it bounces the light from deep drifts in moorland dips and on the fields, it dramatises the dark lines of stone walls. The valley dances with different light, shadows become more purply, snow drifts become blue, the sky is full of grey hues. A dazzling distraction.

Soft pastels are brilliant at capturing this: they flow, blend, colours can be gloriously vivid or nudged into soft shadows; texture can be added, light augmented to a wintery gorgeousness. A new set of purples makes my fingers tingle!

But first, there is a bit of hard work to be done. Making these lovely sticks of pure colour behave themselves requires a bit of prep work. Over the decades I have realised that successful landscape painting is not just knowing the land, enjoying it, walking in it, observing it…. but also taking time to lay some good ground work on my pastel surface before I start to paint it. (It is still called painting, even though the pastel pigments remain dry.) It might sound a little tedious (especially when you’re all revved up ready to paint!), but I have 2 big rules: taking time to properly PREP MY SURFACE and carefully consider my COMPOSITION PLAN.

To make the fabulous, vibrant colours of soft pastel stay on the surface of any paper, the surface needs to be gritty – the grit being ready to grip all those particles of pure colour!

Any thick paper or card that has a slight texture can work and lots are available from the art material shops. I tend to prime my own card (I use artist mount board) with a readymade primer so that I can control it and layer it thickly where it will be required.

But where will it be required? What shape does my card need to be? What size? Where will the horizon of my landscape be, where will rich under-colour be needed?

The answer is all in my composition plan. A cheap pad of paper and a pencil is all that is needed – plus a bit of patience! All my landscapes are carefully planned before I start: on my sketch pad I can erase mistakes easily, play with where a horizon might sit, what overall shape will suit the scene best, how the light is going to flow.

My plans are not pictures in themselves, but MAPS… with notes and arrows and ideas and thoughts. It all might evolve a little as the painting gets underway, but starting with a composition ‘map’ I feel I’m halfway there already.

I cut my card to the right size and shape and apply acrylic paint to get rid of the blank surface. When that is dry I brush on a generous coat of primer. I have a good idea of where I’m going as I pick up my soft pastel colours, and I can focus on the dazzling snow without distraction.

And so I’m rather hoping for more snow this winter, I wonder what other Dales look fabulous with a winter coat?

DO YOU KNOW YOUR WIDDALE FROM YOUR WALDENDALE?

My QUEST is underway, and here's a second 'blog'!

My first blog (scroll down to find it) outlined some of the task ahead: I aim to explore and paint ALL the named Dales in the Yorkshire Dales National Park - it might take some time!

The first question is…

………where is Widdale?

… and why is it so different from Waldendale?

Most of us have heard of Wensleydale – if only for its cheese. A grand, wide, majestic Dale of fields and farming, cows and sheep; and the River Ure gliding gently through its wide flat valley bottom.

But it has some great secrets: begin to explore its side tributary Dales and you’ll find some fabulous places that are spectacularly varied.

Starting at Wensleydale’s southern flank from the west, I discovered WIDDALE. I had driven through it many times before but not stopped to look. It is a fabulous place of upper contours and grandeur which I had whizzed past on my way from Hawes to Ribblehead viaduct. Now I stopped and found a path up to the moortops, discovering a glorious space where the Dale delivered its best – even under grey skies it entertained me. My painting invites you to ‘PRESS PAUSE’ and soak it in.

Neighbouring SLEDDALE shares some of this rounded grandeur. It is Sleddale that offers the breath-taking scenery when travelling the road over from Upper Wharfedale down through Gayle and into Hawes. Here the top soils appear to be quite barren in places, having easy-to-mould muddy gritstones beneath, and the rain-pounded slopes are riddled with stream rivulets.

Some hardy farmers work this land, maybe it is their gritty determination that I refer to in ‘SLEDDALE GRIT’.

RAYDALE comes next, with the gorgeous treasure of Semer Water nestling in its bowl. It is totally different from the previous two! Here limestone takes prominence under the soil, limestone escarpments protrude and there are steep slopes of scree. The underlying mixture of rock belong to the famous Yoredale Series, which offer well-drained, rich top soils, so I use a lush green palette to depict the scene.

But there is a further local tale: these limestone escarpments stand guard not only over Semer Water but also look down on the site of Wensleydale’s old Roman Fort at Bainbridge. I fancifully feel that they remain as Roman Sentinel Guards, and name my painting ‘YOREDALE SENTINELS’.

I continue east to find WALDENDALE, yet again a different type of place. Its two roads peter out and only old tracks and pathways cross its upper moors. These purple contours surround it protectively: there are lush green fields and old stone farms, sheep and overgrown paths. Secluded and quiet, almost in a time zone of its own: as depicted in ‘WALDENTIME’.

What a taster of variety; and I have only just started! It is time to retrace my steps along Wensleydale’s southern edge and fill in some gaps. RAYDALE has two tributaries of its own: I painted bleak BARDALE last year, I have recently walked CRAGDALE and am mulling on how to capture it. And there is farm filled BISHOPDALE to wander, bleak COVERDALE to ponder, and COLSTERDALE to find. I’m going to stay busy.

If you’d like to receive this BLOG via email, simply email me with the words ‘join the quest’ and I’ll add you to my mailing list. Email: luci@luciasmith.co.uk.

HOW MANY DALES?

How many Dales?

the start of a QUEST……

I have only recently realised how few of the Yorkshire Dales I know. The ‘main’ dales such as Wharfedale, Wensleydale and Swaledale are my familiar walking territory, and even some of their main tributary Dales are well known to me; but looking more carefully at my Yorkshire Dales National Park (YDNP) map I realise there are many more side Dales I didn’t know existed and certainly haven’t visited!

Donning my walking boots, and with eyes peeled for good compositions, I have started to explore….

It is amazing how DIFFERENT some of the Dales are from each other - and the smaller tributaries that I’ve found seem to be even more individual in character. To find out why, you have to dig a bit deeper: I found the answer beneath the surface in the rock beds. Our Yorkshire Dales National Park has a particularly rich and exciting variety of geology - and back in 1954 this helped secure its National Park status.

Limestone layers result in steep contours, pavement plateaux, well-drained upper grasslands and lush green valley bottoms. Exciting angles, lots of greens…fun to paint!

In contrast the millstone grit offers peaty, rounded moorlands; impressive smooth contours, covered with colourful heather and cotton grass. Big wide open spaces I can drench in colour and light.

And many Dales have a glorious mixture which creates a very specific landscape unique to that particular Dale.

I have yet to pin down the actual number of Dales in the YDNP; I have 45 on a list provided by a YDNP ranger, but other lists suggest over 50. Locals give valleys names which are not shown on maps, other names seem to be used more than once… visiting them all and painting them all is going to be an interesting quest!

But A QUEST it is. I am setting out to use my walking boots, my composition sketch pad, my easel and my soft pastels to capture ALL the named Yorkshire Dales within the National Park.

They will need observing carefully. For each I will aim to distil something of its essence, something of its unique character, atmosphere and space. Some Dales might need large wide canvases with big primed surfaces and dramatic underpainting, others may be glimpsed via a small intimate composition on a water-coloured background - throughout it all I am sure my soft pastels will be put to the test!

Recently I have been exploring Wensleydale, finding Widdale, Sleddale, Raydale and Waldendale, and that’s just for starters. If you’d like to join me without having to put your walking boots on or pick up a map, just follow this blog!

If you’d like to receive it via email, simply email me with the words ‘join the quest’ and I’ll add you to my mailing list. Email: luci@luciasmith.co.uk