Eric Ravilious.

Eric Rivilious

Great nature artists seies: Eric Ravilious.

English painter, wood-engraver and designer. He was educated at Eastbourne School of Art and then at the Royal College of Art (1922–5), where he was taught by Paul Nash and became close friends with Edward Bawden. His early works included the refectory mural (destr. 1940) in Morley College, London, and wood-engravings in the tradition of Bewick for the Golden Cockerel, Curwen and Nonesuch presses. In the 1930s he began painting larger compositions in a wider range of colour, and this led him to use lithography. Ravilious also produced designs for Wedgwood, including the celebration mug (1936) for the coronation of King Edward VIII, which was withdrawn and revised for the coronations of George VI and Elizabeth II; the Alphabet mug (1937); the Afternoon Tea (1937), Travel (1938) and Garden Implements (1939) china sets; and the Boat Race Day cup (1938). He also designed glass for Stuart Crystal (1934), furniture for Dunbar Hay (1936) and graphic work for advertisements for London Transport and others. Despite his success as a designer, Ravilious concentrated increasingly on watercolours. His landscapesand rural interiors often featured the downland and coast of southern England; haunting and lyrical, these works show a world in suspense and often feature chalk hill figures, and empty rooms (e.g. Farmhouse Bedroom, 1939; London, V&A). In 1939 he became a War Artist, and during World War II he depicted such subjects as De-iceing Aircraft (c. 1942; London, Imp. War Mus.). He died while observing a sea rescue mission.

Taken from the TATE website.

Skirr Cottage Diary.

Having spent most of the morning and early afternoon painting the inside of our small conservatory, by late afternoon I felt ready for some outdoor space. I headed for the old Cromford and High Peak railway track in Goyt Valley which is now an interesting walk and cycle track leading to the now blocked up tunnel. The track is only about a mile and half in length but links various footpaths, so a circular walk is possible. The track is great for people who need to walk on the flat or for wheel chair uses, enabling you enter right into the heart of the moorland and enjoy some great nature and stunning views.

I was hoping to see a short-eared owl but made do with sparrow hawk, several kestrels busy hunting, two buzzards and some young wheatears using the walls as track way.

But what held my attention was taken up with the insect life on the verges; especially the abundance of butterflies. Dark green fritillaries were in great numbers as well as what I believe to be small heath butterflies. There were also gatekeepers and six spot burnet moths and other insects beyond my meagre skills to identify. As for the short-eared owl, well, there will be other days, perhaps this weekend.

Skirr Cottage Diary.

A visit to North Norfolk proved to be a much needed tonic. As soon as we entered the county it was like going back in time. A visit to Cley Marsh produced three spoonbills and many black-tailed and bar-tailed godwits. The marsh harriers were showing well and a white-rumped sandpiper proved a bonus. Red kite and a passing osprey were also present. The numbers of little egrets now, never cease to amaze me. Cetti’s warbler and bearded tits were good for the year list also. Walking down the East Bank of the marsh I came to the bankside where I first met Richard Richardson. That was many years ago but the place hasn’t really changed that much once your out-and –about on the marsh.

 A boat trip to Blakeney Point from Morston is always great fun and good views of both sandwich terns and little terns are always exciting; seeing them flying in with bills full of sand eels is great and the seals are always a spectacular site. In the evening barn owls hunted in the meadows near Stiffkey (once the home of Henry Williamson) and little owls were heard calling.

Titchwell Reserve rarely disappoints, even though summer is perhaps not the best time. But some waders were beginning to arrive including spotted redshank, ruff, dunlin godwits and green sandpiper. A Mediterranean gull was found among the many black-headed gulls and two little gulls.

Everywhere wild flowers were in full bloom, especially the poppies and a walk along the cliffs to Sherringham through the meadows of the nature reserve was like walking through a vast wild flower garden. North Norfolk will always be a magic place to me.

Stars of Morning.

Sleep seems a sensation of the past.

The night hours have become half dreams,

Some kind of between world trapped in crazy shadows.

Reality becomes blurred, a shadow on dark water

Voices whispering from some distant place.

Stars give way to morning and the first blackbird stirs.

The tawny owl returns to roost;

I sense the first splutter of emerging dawn,

The cold light folding in from the fields,

Spectres dancing the dew path.

The blackbird begins its song, then another, and another;

I hear a wren scold the dawn, a song thrush,

Then a distant curlew below the Edge,

Bubbling like spring water.

The light is stronger now, daylight comes creeping

And the world is suddenly on view.

The stars have melted to infinity

As if they never were;

They too have gone to roost

To return in the blue quiet of memory.

Flint.

 I stoop to pick up a piece of polished flint
 A piece of sedimentary cryptocrystalline, a form of the mineral quartz

Smudge red and orange,

A galaxy reflected on its surface.

Why this fragment among billions I do not know;

It seemed to choose me rather than me it,

Calling through a million years of upheaval and change.

It fitted into my palm snugly as if a missing part of me,

A homecoming spanning epochs.

So smooth to the touch like silk, yet harder than iron

It pinned me to the spot, rooted me to earth

As if I had sprouted roots like a mighty oak tree;

I heard the stone song reverberate through the heavens

Bringing life into existence,

The song of making weaving through ancient tunnels

Stirring the darkness to life like a flame in the wilderness.

I knew then we couldn’t be parted –

At least for a short time.

Hol weg

It was good to find the secret silence in the earth,

To be among roots, gnarled and worn only

By the wild creatures of the holloway.

Inside the whale-ribbed forest

There was a strange bee drone, an earth hum.

Footfall and the plodding hoof

And the rambling carts have dug deep

As the soft rock as yielded.

Rivers of rain have converged

To snake through the soft soil and stones,

Deeper and deeper into the martyrs lair;

Soon the lane is sunken into fleeting shadow

Weaving through the roots of time.

Then the trees, slender ash, holly, beech

And elm, reach over to join and lace together

As if in prayer, as if to conceal the secret maze

Even from moon and star.

Soon the road becomes lost in the landscape,

Lost to memory like a fading picture.

Yet memories still linger as shades,

Fixed in the very fabric of the place,

Recording your pilgrimage, your journey

Through the dimness of the old way.