The Lure of The Mountains

I love mountains, me.

I love all the many challenges they represent, both physical, mental and artistic. I love all the many experiences they’ve given me and the fact that – in my opinion – they still remain the best way to clear one’s head and take stock of one’s life. The best views are rewarded only to those who are prepared to put in the greatest effort of climbing to the highest viewpoints, and when you reach those tops, the problems of the world all seem a little less pressing somehow. It’s like they help to put all things into perspective.

Speaking of which; mountains obey the laws of both linear and aerial perspective, and almost always seem to manage to create their own, visually logical contrast and counterchange, when needed the most. In short, they provide the artist with an almost endless variety of views and ever-changing weather patterns provide a constantly changing way of lighting them.

For students, the topography of mountains seems to pose some of the greatest problems, and I’m always keen to try and encourage new painters to try and visualise the subject in a sort of three-dimensional virtual environment – in their head – particularly when they are working from a photograph. Painting on location in the hills can be a daunting prospect because of the sheer scale of the subject. Also, imprisoning a vast, grand landscape within the borders of a relatively small sheet of paper can seem an almost impossible task, not to mention, somehow diminishing.

The painting shown here is of a view looking back down into Langdale from Stickle Ghyll, on the way up to Stickle Tarn. I painted it last month, while exhibiting at Patchings Art Festival. There are three things that I would like to highlight…

Firstly; note how the finest details are restricted to the foreground. As the hills recede away from us, so the details we can see on their surfaces diminish also. This reduction in detailing is one of the ways in which we can reinforce the illusion of recession. And it is always just an illusion, since it is to be remembered that, as watercolour artists, we are restricted to working on a two-dimensional surface.

Secondly; note how shadows not only create light and dark areas, but they also help to visually explain the contours of the ground upon which they are falling. In other words; straight shadows tell the viewer that a surface is flat, while shadows that rise and fall tell them that a surface is curved. It may seem like an obvious thing to say, but I’ve seen students lay down incorrectly shaped shadows, that convey entirely the wrong message.

Finally; note how the hills intersect with each other. Each intersection is like a visual T-junction that helps to convey the notion of a hill emerging from behind another. If you had those same lines converging as a cross, then not only would the viewer become confused as to which element is the closest to us, but compositionally, the scene would be weaker for it (a little like how we build brick walls… see the two diagrams below…). Always remember; ‘T-junctions are good – Crossroads are bad’.

As I get older, the whole business of hiking up to the top of a mountain slowly transforms into a different proposition to when I was younger and fitter. The body isn’t as agile as it once was, and when I do get to the top of a mountain and down again, I’ll know about it for several days afterwards (that’s if I can move at all). The thought of living in an area where there are no hills starts to become an attractive proposition, with the idea of possibly taking up cycling becoming more palatable. Having said all that, I’ve met octogenarians in the mountains who are as fit as a fiddle, some of whom still wildcamp in order to experience a summit sunrise at first hand, and have no intention of giving up their passion any time soon. As we get older we slow down, and hiking expeditions need to be tailored to fit, and if that means walking 7 miles instead of 15, then so be it. In the end, there’s something about the lure of the mountains that is difficult to precisely put one’s finger on. I know I like climbing them, and that I enjoy painting them above almost all other subjects. Long may that continue (even if I am no longer the slim mountain goat that I used to be).