Tag Archives: fine art

Sunlight and Sargent

Above: Lime Tree. Leopold Place. Acrylic on 14×11″ wood. Rose Strang 2026

By the fountain, near the gate,
There stands a linden tree;
I have dreamt in its shadows
so many sweet dreams.

Thus wrote Wilhelm Müller in the 1820s, a few years before Schubert set it to music in his 24-song cycle, Winterreise. Der Lindenbaum (The Linden Tree, or Lime Tree) was the 5th song.

Müller’s poem goes on from summer reverie to melancholy when he passes the tree in winter. So it feels an appropriate quote for the start of this blog since I’m painting a lime tree in June in late September and I can feel the chill hand of winter in the air! Limes look surprisingly gothy in winter, with twisty, spindly black branches. You’d never guess they could become so gloriously lush and heavy with foliage.

Lime trees have become a bit of an obsession of mine recently. Their scent has always enchanted me, but this year I decided to explore them thoroughly and holistically; photographing and drawing the tree in its seasonal stages and paying attention to all facets of the scent. This year the beautifully fragranced blossoms arrived later than last year and seemed even more ephemeral. Probably because I was too busy to appreciate them, then summer’s gone in a flash.

I bought several samples of perfumes inspired by lime blossom, including a tiny half ml of pure lime blossom absolute. You can read about that on my perfume-related Substack page if you like! Lime Blossom at Leopold Place

Closely observing nature is a particular interest this year, and you can read about my interest in Goethean observation here Fairhill, but for this particular blog I want to explore the other inspiration behind today’s painting; Sargent.

John Singer Sargent. One of the most overlooked (in terms of posthumous accolade) painters that ever existed. He was at his height in the late 1800s and early 1900s, then impressionism, fauvism, futurism etc all happened, and Sargent’s beautiful painterly expression and observation was kind of dismissed as irrelevant.

Inevitably though, his work is enjoying a resurgence, in America anyway (where he lived part of his life) which will no doubt spread to the UK and Europe. He was born in Florence, Italy, to well-travelled American parents, and Europe was a huge influence. He enjoyed huge commercial success with his beautiful, flattering portraits of the upper classes, the most famous being Portrait of Madame X. Or his portrait of Lady Agnew.

If you only looked at the portraits, you would tend to agree that his work, while stunningly beautiful, isn’t heavy with meaning. It’s the watercolours and quick sketches of his later years that really entrance us now.

If you’re an artist who’s interested in painting light, his brilliance is dazzling, moving even. His brushstrokes, so fluid and seemingly effortless, seem to capture the very essence of what he observes, fleetingly and effortlessly. That’s always the way of truly brilliant people; to make it look effortless, when it’s not.

Then there’s the way you can lose yourself in the subtlety of tone he brings in to depict a wall. It’s mesmerising. He clearly felt free in watercolour, often capturing the beauty of men in an erotic sense, as he was gay. He always captured beauty, in all his subjects, and this was simply too ‘nice’.

He was also criticised for the fact that he didn’t use watercolours ‘properly’. Hilarious to us now, the idea of a ‘proper’ way to paint. I mean, there are rules for things like preventing ageing in terms of materials, or damage to paintings, but the idea that there has to be a technique such as ‘light to dark’, or that you shouldn’t use gouache on top of water colour appears ridiculous to us now.

Given I had a deadline for today’s painting I decided to paint in fast-drying acrylics rather than oils. I also decided to use acrylics like water colour, in transparent washes, but using Sargent’s approach of dark to light, then adding opaques. I didn’t really stick to that in the end, but it gave some lovely fresh results that help me understand how he worked so rapidly.

With that in mind it’s interesting to look at one of his watercolours – I’ve added this as I think it’s ok to post the link and credit here:

 

 

 

 

 

(Landscape Watercolor Study by John Singer Sargent. Source nga.gov.  https://www.nga.gov/artworks/129320-sunlit-wall-under-tree )

You can maybe see how I’ve attempted  his technique here …

My own painting (main painting and details above) doesn’t have those incredibly silky, fluid patches of colour of Sargent’s, and the tones are much cooler, though that’s fine since it’s Edinburgh, but basically (if you’re interested in technique) I started with a wash of very pale lemon yellow, let it dry then blocked in shapes with ultramarine and ochre. After those dried I mixed up some white, ochre, cadmium red and yellow to make a very pale warm cream, and added in the suggestion of architecture with slightly darker shade of the same. When that dried, I mixed ultramarine and lemon yellow to create a mid-chartreuse lime to create the lighter splashes of the trees. I then blobbed in dashes of light lemon yellow just at the top. The violet shadow on the street was rose madder/ultramarine, then lastly I mixed very light off white to create the dapples in the ground and to break up the trees. Done. It was fun! It was absolutely an exercise in depicting light. The only structures were the suggestions of pillars and the twisty branches.

More about why I painted this in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, I’ll be creating a series of of Fairhill/Pishwanton in this style of painting over the next couple of weeks, for the Graystone Gallery.

Glenshee 1. Oil on14 x 11 inches. Rose Strang 2026

Glenshee

Above: Glenshee 1. Oil on 14 by 11 inch wood board. Rose Strang 2026

This is the first of a series of moody chiaroscuro paintings for the Limetree Gallery’s Autumn show coming up later this year.

Glenshee is the mountain pass you travel through on your way to Braemar and the Cairngorms. The mountains remind me of huge waves of earth and rock. After you drive through they stay in your mind with their compelling shapes, light and dark racing across their flanks, rich sienna-black like a Burmese cat’s fur!

We’ll be travelling up there this weekend to look at a house. A chance to experience the beautiful mountains again.

I’ll be updating each week as the series continues …

 

'Caol Ì (Sound of Iona)'. Mixed media on 16x16" wood. Rose Strang 2026

Caol Ì (The Sound of Iona)

Above: Caol Ì (The Sound of Iona). Mixed media on 16×16″ wood. Rose Strang 2026.

I’ve always found the name of the narrow channel of water between Iona and Mull poetic: The Sound of Iona, or in Scottish Gaelic, Caol Ì. Pronounced ‘Cuhl’ like the ‘u’ in ‘numb’. If you want to get fussy, the ‘L’ is pulled or rolled back in the throat, almost like a Spanish ‘L’. In original Gaelic, it means ‘narrow’ or ‘slender’. and  Ì simply means ‘Iona’, which is the original name of Iona, and is pronounced ‘Eee’.

It would have been called ‘Ì Chaluim Chille‘, meaning ‘The Island of the church of Calum Cille from the time Calum Cille arrived on the island but apparently it was always called  ‘Ì’. 

Hmm, that just means ‘island’ so they must have distinguished it in some way, in the name. Who knows?

Calum Cille was a powerful figure in the history of the Celtic Christian early church, which I’ve written about elsewhere. He was an exiled Irish prince and a well-trained warrior. However, it’s well-documented historically that he led a group of monks according to Christian principles, which you’d imagine would include peaceable ways.

Which brings us back to my painting, which attempts to capture the particular peace of gentle Hebridean rain, standing on Traigh Ban nam Manach (the white shore of the monks) looking towards Mull across the Sound.

In recent years, the Iona Community (an ecumenical Christian group on the island, who run religious programmes through Iona Abbey) have incorporated Celtic pagan forms of worship with Christian, which means a slant towards God in landscape and nature. This is a real Scottish tradition of the Hebrides, since there were not always churches in remote islands, so finding religious meaning in the clouds, the land and light or dark was just what people did.

Here’s a well-known prayer from Iona:

‘Silence.

Be still

and aware of God’s presence

within and all around.’

Here’s the painting again. Wishing you a peaceful week …

'Caol Ì (Sound of Iona)'. Mixed media on 16x16" wood. Rose Strang 2026

‘Caol Ì (Sound of Iona)’. Mixed media on 16×16″ wood. Rose Strang 2026

'Eilean Annraidh from Iona'. Mixed media on 16x16" wood. Rose Strang 2026

Eilean Annraidh from Iona

Above: Eilean Annraidh from Iona. Mixed media on 16×16″ wood. Rose Strang 2026.
The above is pronounced AY-lun AN-ray, meaning The Island of Storms. I’m not worried about people stumbling over the Gaelic pronunciation of these paintings, given that everyone at The Resipole Gallery is familiar with Gaelic and will happily help anyone with correct pronunciation.
This series, including yesterday’s painting, and five more, is destined for an upcoming exhibition at the Resipole titled Facing West. Today’s painting, painted en plein air on Iona, is actually facing north east, but since Iona is in the far western Hebrides of Scotland, I think it counts as westerly.

'Eilean Annraidh from Iona'. Mixed media on 16x16" wood. Rose Strang 2026

‘Eilean Annraidh from Iona’. Mixed media on 16×16″ wood. Rose Strang 2026

This little bar of bright sand viewed from Tràigh Bàn Nam Manach (White Strand of the Monks) is very familiar to anyone from Iona, or anyone who’s visited. We were chatting with people who work in Columba’s Hotel on Iona, both of whom had kayaked there. They told me it actually protects the north east beach from storms, acting as a little breakwater.

Adam and I had dropped in there for a much needed coffee on our way back from painting, and Allie, one of the staff there, really loved the painting, so I asked if they’d like a print of it. They definitely did, so if you ever visit Iona and drop in to the Columba, you’ll spot it somewhere!
This view always looks so striking against the deep blue/purple drama of Mull, which is why this exact same scene has been painted hundreds of times. Especially since the colourists made it famous. They stayed at the nearby cottage of Lagandorain (place of the otters) while painting Iona in the 1920s or thereabouts, and it would take them just a few minutes to walk down to the beach.
Painting on the beach, the light changing all the time…

And a video…


More tomorrow, from the north beach, getting closer up to the sea…

Forest of Fairhill 4

Above: Wood Cabin. Fairhill. Mixed media on 14×8″ wood. Rose Strang 2026

Today’s painting featuring spring in the foreswt of Pishwanton/Fairhill, following on from the previous three posts. This is a series I’m drawn to paint not just because spring emerging is such a joyful time of year, but also because of the location – Fairhill, in East Lothian.

It’s a piece of land that was formerly used as a tip, which was rescued by the Life Science Centre who decided to experiment with sustainable cultivating approaches isnpired by Steiner principles of observation and connectedness.

When I feel a bit less puggled (it’s been a busy day) I’ll write more, suffice to say for the moment that the principles of observation they describe chime with me, and the way I want to understand the subjects I paint. Not just visually, but in myriad ways. More of that next week.

 

Toasting glasses

18th Century Toasting Glasses. Oil on 12 x 9″ wood panel. Rose Strang 2026

More work today on glass painting. These are a gift for someone’s upcoming wedding.

Until the end of April this year I’ll be painting still lifes, but after that I’ll be fully immersed in landscape painting from May to July, in preparation for group exhibitions at The Resipole Gallery and The Limetree Gallery.

I’ll be staying on the Isle of Iona for two weeks so I can really get into the feel of it there. I’m so looking forward to it as it’s been a while since I took time to really focus on one landscape.

More paintings coming soon …

Exhibition Saturday 19th July

Coming up in just 9 days, The Edinburgh Festival Exhibition at The Graystone Gallery, Edinburgh!

Saturday 19th June, 2 to 4pm, Graystone Gallery

Here’s a litle vid showing the inspiration of Iona and clips of the painting process …

Winter Exhibition at the Resipole

Above: Coigach 1. Oil on 5×7″ wood. Rose Strang 2023

Six little paintings on wood from my ‘Coigach series’ are showing as part of the Resipole Gallery’s Winter Show. Beautifully presented as always by the gallery curators alongside some wonderful paintings and ceramics – all reflecting the textures and atmosphere of Scotland’s west coast. Here are the six paintings in the show …

The exhibition runs from December until 29th February 2024. You can view the exhibition Here, or better still travel up there to experience Ardnamurchan – one of the few places where you can still walk among Atlantic oaks at the edge of white beaches with turquoise sea lapping the shore.

‘Borrowed Land’ – Exhibition launch at the Kilmorack Gallery

Above – Borrowed Land , group exhibition at the Kilmorack Gallery. The ‘Trace’ series of paintings will be on exhibition as part of the show, which runs from November 2023 to March 2nd 2024. (Read more about the series here: Traces of the Past)

Last Saturday I travelled up north to be part of the the launch of Borrowed Land, an exhibition curated by owner of the Kilmorack Gallery Tony Davidson.

Part of Tony’s inspiration for the exhibition came from the quote; We do not inherit the land, we borrow it from our children. All participating artists were invited to respond to the concept of ‘borrowed land’. (our responses are included in the exhibition catalogue which is available from the gallery website here – Catalogue )

I’m completely enchanted by the Kilmorack gallery aesthetic and atmosphere. The building was formerly a church, built (at least part of it I think) in the late 1700s. I usually experience an internal cringe when churches are converted to non-religious purposes, not neccessarily because of the change of use from religious to commercial or everyday residential, but the fact of the architectural purpose of church buildings, which are designed to inspire contemplation, imagine the heavens or to aspire to something beyond ourselves. It’s why I feel an art gallery is suited to such a building; if the art presented inspires thought, imagination and contemplation as much as aesthetics.

Have a read about the exhibition Here, or take a look at the gallery via this excellent 3D walk-through …

https://my.matterport.com/show/?m=cYumFGguSW7&sr=.06,-.58&ss=3

After the exhibition launch we stayed over night to walk around the next day – some photos …

‘Trace. Blackwater. Oil on 80x80cm canvas. Rose Strang 2023

Traces of the past

Above: Trace. Blackwater. Oil on 80x80cm canvas. Rose Strang 2023

Traces of past cultures in landscape have fascinated me for many years. Especially those traces so subtle you’d walk past, barely noticing them. Expressing this subtlety in paint is a challenge.

While painting a series in 2018 titled ‘Wells of Arthur’s Seat’ I started to find a way. There are literal traces, like the trace of a chain on the boulder near St Anthony’s Well which was originally attached to a metal cup above a carved stone basin. The spring has long since dried up, but as late as the early 20th century people from Edinburgh would sip the water, or soak cloth in the water then apply it to their body in the belief it cured disease or imbalance.

I don’t want to paint literal traces, however, and while exploring the history of St Anthony’s Well I became immersed in the mystery of water. Its layers, veils and reflections suggested timelessness, ‘as above so below’, or the idea of liminal or in-between places.

Painting ripples left by, for example, a falling twig, reminded me of pre-historic concentric rings carved into rocks around the British Isles. No one knows why those carvings were created, but to me they suggested ever multiplying rings created by cause and effect – a falling leaf that creates a pulse of water, shifting tectonic plates that create the huge pulse of a tsunami, or the mystery of gravity and the orbiting planets and moons of our solar system.

When I visited Saxon burial mounds at Sutton Hoo in Suffolk it wasn’t the mounds themselves I wanted to paint, it was the river that led to the mounds – the River Deben. I painted reflections on the river and the wake left by a passing boat – to me the flowing river brought that past culture to life more than the burial mounds. Cultures change and become strange or indecipherable but a boat’s wake remains the same. I could envisage their arrival from northern Europe to the Suffolk coast up the River Deben, imagining what made them settle here and select this particular spot as as a sacred burial ground.

Then the process of painting the layers of water was so complex in itself – there is translucency and opacity, reflections, the rhythm of flowing water and the fact of constant movement and change. I was also thinking of the fact that nature was at the heart of Saxon culture and religion. For example the tree of life – Yggdrasil – which encompasses many different worlds. Each of the tree’s three roots is fed by three different wells representing past, present and future.

These myths reflect a truth – that everything is connected. Our recent past, encompassing the industrial revolution and unprecedented consumption of resources, has taken us full circle back to this realisation of inter-connectedness, and the dilemma of how to move forward. Our culture will leave more trace than any that came before us.

At Loch Venachar in the Central Highlands of Scotland, I searched for the remains of a Crannog (iron-age man-made islands on which wooden dwelling structures were built). The island itself was visible, but sadly concrete had been poured onto the remants, probably to prevent it being washed away. Again, literal remnants didn’t move me so much as the trace of stones leading to the island – just the merest suggestion that in this area at the loch’s edge the stones were just a little raised. Gazing at the stones as dawn rose, rays of sunlight began to reveal the stones beneath the surface, while further away the surface remained opaque. These half-revealed images suggested more to the imagination.

Loch Venachar is fed by the Blackwater River and as we explored further along the river side, I found myself mesmerised by the reflected green/yellow light of foliage in the black water, still as a mirror, which brought to mind Corinthians 13:12:

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

These ideas are complicated to express creatively in an image. Or not so complicated when simply observing what’s there; traces on water – concentric circles, ripples, what’s revealed below, or concealed from view, what is mirrored back to us. Although we can’t know all, we do know that all is connected. When contemplating nature these images become poetic and profound.

This series of three paintings – Trace. Sutton Hoo, Trace, Portnellan Island, Loch Venachar and Trace, Blackwater, will be on show as part of the exhibition Borrowed Land, which launches at The Kilmorack Gallery on the 18th November 2023.

‘Trace. Blackwater’. Oil on 80x80cm canvas. Rose Strang 2023