A return to watercolours

The last assignment of the course was, in fact, two finished landscape paintings. For my second one I took the leap from oils to watercolours, and indeed, in the beginning, it was painfully clear I had not used the techniques in a year. I quickly remembered, and from then on it was easier.
I chose for my subject a photo of my beloved island Gotland, the east coast, last winter, which was a very snowy one. The light in the sky was a true challenge to capture, and however well or else that I succeeded, it does not transfer at all to a digital photo and then a computer screen. This is true for most drawings and watercolours anyway, but it is worth mentioning every time.
I used watercolours and some white gouache, which at first looked far too bright but after some drybrushing (this may be the first time I have thanked myself for using paper with a pressed grain in it, I generally dislike it and prefer flat paper) worked out better than I had anticipated. I chose an A3 size of paper (oddly enough, watercolour pads generally come in the A*-sizes) that, I think, has been cold-pressed. The painting took a few days, with some pauses to allow the paint to dry, and was mostly painted with a round sable brush of fairly large size. I began by sketching the outlines of things with an HB or 2B pencil.
The clouds were by far the most fun to paint, and possibly the most difficult and least successful. I am not certain. The light source, that is, the sun, was behind the clouds, and the light didn't at all fall on the clouds like it normally does. Low hanging sun means a very different light. There are, in fact, no easter eggs or anything in this picture. It didn't need it.
All in all, returning to watercolours was pure joy, and I look forward to doing more in this medium.

Mountains, in oils

When the assignment to paint a landscape or nature painting arrived, I thought at once of two places - Gotland and Scotland. Therefore, I duly painted both.
The first painting to be started on and finished, is an oil painting on a 38x46 cm (or F8) canvas on a frame. The reference photo was irresistible, providing me with challenges as well as speaking to some of my strengths.
I started out by sketching the outlines, managing reasonably well, and then began by painting the mountains roughly. I couldn't resist spending quite some time on them, before moving on to the grasses. A lot of raw umber and ochre colours were used. The sky was what I painted last, technically at least - I then went back and touched up both here and there, first and foremost in the area of the dark hills that actually had, as I noticed, a few flecks of sunlight in spots I hadn't hitherto noticed. And so it was out with the ochre again, and both working in almost-dried paint, and drybrushing.
I allowed this painting to dry for a few days during one stage, and left it alone for short periods of time too. I do love working wet in wet, but it needed to be left to dry for some details.
I am very pleased with the snow on the mountains, but it was very tricky to get the snow amongst the grass quite right. The photo doesn't do the painting justice, even if it does manage to catche some of the suble colour change in the sky, for example.

The reference photo is of the mountains of An Teallach (meaning, most likely, "Forge" or perhaps "Anvil" in Scots Gaelic), in Dundonell, in Scotland. They are very beautiful.

But this painting does not end there, I'm afraid. As I painted, I knew I wanted to incorporate something of a slightly more fantasy nature, and indeed, it would have felt unfinished had I neglected to do so. So there, in the left side of the painting, there is a someone and a horse, walking along.
Therefore, the painting is called what it is called - "Ered Luin, or An Teallach with a visitor." For what would that pointy-hatted old man do there, in Scotland? Not that I'd mind meeting him, of course.
The Ered Luin are also known as the Blue Mountains, and once stood east of Beleriand, though where that lay is now only the sea. Instead, we must look to the east of the Ered Luin, and notice, perhaps, the river Lhûin which flows into the sea at the Grey Havens, Mithlond.

"Even as the first shadows were felt in the Mirkwood there appeared in the west of Middle-Earth the Istari, whom Men called the Wizards. None knew at that time whence they came, save Círdan of the Havens, and only to Elrond and to Galadriel did he reveal that they came over the Sea." ("The Silmarillion", J.R.R. Tolkien, p 359)

And so, the parallell was an easy one to draw upon. But most of all, I am plain happy with a very good nature painting, which conveys some of the incredible beauty of a land I love.