In the fourth year of owning a wood, in my seventh decade.
Wyman Wood is a small woodland plot of 2 ½acres in Norfolk: A little world going on by itself regardless of us. As if we brought with us the trees we knew as children. Belonging there gives me inspiration. Suddenly, I want to paint the birds, the wildlife hibernating in the caravan, the carpet of bluebells with stitchwort, the butterflies appearing in sunlight in the glades we open up.
Sometimes I use collage to collect images together; there's an urgency to keep them close to each other. Is this my age or the future loss of quiet woody places?