I love winter, especially in the mountains, wild camping and experiencing all the elements. As I stroked my blank canvas, the white stirred memories of the extremes of winter mountaineering and hiking - joy and pain, physically pushing myself; mind tasked with concentrating and at the same time free to roam, to notice, to soar…Looking down across valleys from high peaks or rock faces, imagining the thousands upon thousands of pieces of time passed in these places; Things at once hidden by the weather and yet others revealed, exposed. Imagining the freedom, of being alone and at peace in the "silence", soaring above like the birds of prey. As with many of my paintings I worked on the horizontal, moving rhythmically around the work, falling into a gradually calming/soothing sway. I wrote this poem at the same time as the painting:      
 
Soaring above  
Imagine the howling of the wind, the vortices and currents
Imagine the freedom, the silence of humanity
Imagine the energy vibrating, holding you buoyant and suspended
Suspended as is the progression of life below 

Soaring above 
Imagine the grey corries of the Aenoch's, of the Cairngorms, of Scotland in the depths of winter 
Imagine the mist rolling over the peaks and lochs, ice-rimed and shimmering, snow and shadows obscuring danger 
Imagine the corries dressed in shades of silver, grey, blue and purple; refractions of turbulent skies and seething waters, flowing over the ground
Grounded and anchored as the heather; a sharp relief from the white on white
Ije 14.11.18 06:38 / 27.4.19 09:29