Chasing Colour in the Dreich
10 things that (can still) compel me to make an image on a dreich December day
Hello, how’s your week been? This month feels to be in a hurry.
Since the snow melted, it’s been dark here. Without the light bouncing back up from the ground and under a heavy sky the short days are emphasised. Sunrise today sits at 08:45 and sunset at 15:27. I tell myself that in another week, for those of us in the northern hemisphere, this will pivot and ever so slowly begin to reverse.
By Monday, a fourth day of grey skies and rain was prompting me to consider what I might make the subject of this week’s Stack in the absence of magic or sparkles. But then I realised that is exactly the point. That we need the magic most on these short dark days, so I set myself the challenge to find something rich, some small beauty noticed, despite this constraint. Because of it even.
A walk in a lull between showers gives me some clues. The intensity of wet saturated colour. The once again visible yet elegant decay.
I’ve begun looking into the pools again, contemplating the world through a lens of water.
I’ve written before about the benefits that constraints can bring. The way that they force you to be more creative. And the ties that they bind around anticipation and expectation, those unhelpful twins that play with your perception of any creative endeavour.
The path is again flooded. The Deschampsia I admired in frost lies flat, pressed to the ground by wind and rain. The moss exerts itself and shows its true identity as bog; the soft spots in the slim unmade path are wet, reflective and boot sucking. I try to tread lightly, loathe to leave even footprints.
Lichen lies ripped from its purchase. Deer paths are pockmarked with muddy hoof prints. Small birds still sing.
So here, below, is a listicle of ten things that still whispered brightly to me, and compelled me to make an image.
10 things that (can still) compel me to make an image (on a Dreich December day)
Grey green lichen on wet beech leaves; contrasting tones and elegant flow.
Reflections of birch branches in water with a little added pale colour from submerged lichen; everything dissolves eventually.
Fractal lichen at the edge of a pool reflecting fractal trees above.
A colour palette from moss and lichen on a decaying birch trunk.
Soft sycamore leaves, saturated with rain, desaturated of colour.
Decaying lens of ice in a puddle. Seductive of line, fluid in shape, slickly shiny.
Pine roots, gnarled and covered in lichen and moss, contrasting with rusty red fallen pine needles.
Moss in a flooded hollow, verdant green and lush within its personal oasis.
Bleached bog asphodel leaves and stems, elegantly arranged even as they begin to decay.
Lichen and sedge in a flooded section of path on the edge of the moss, slickly shiny wet, reflective of grey sky, almost glazed.
It turns out galleries here are limited to 9 images! Cue improvisation. And I’ve cheated a little with my No.2a at the top of the post, here for its shimmying colour.
Few if any are perfect images, but they prompted me to be curious, to look more closely, to notice. They speak of an imperfect day. But who am I to judge the day? I’m hardly perfect myself.
They are a little like doors on an advent calendar; each reveals a small treasure.
Looking at them together as small thumbnails, it’s interesting to see how they are connected not just by degrees of wetness, but by their flowing lines. Would I have noticed the connection without this listicle collection? Writing it has also forced me to elucidate why each one spoke to me.
Meanwhile, I’m preparing for a talk, deciding what to say, what to share. This one will be for the Edinburgh Photographic Society, early in the New Year. My observations over the past few months are helping me and re-reading them makes me realise just how much I am enjoying writing. And how I seem to have quite a bit to say! There’ll be a Q&A afterwards - what would you ask or like to know more about if you had the chance?
Thank you for reading FLOW. If you’ve enjoyed this and it sparks something for you, please let me know. A like or a comment, a recommendation, or a restack if you’re using the Substack app can brighten even the dreichest of days.
If you’d like to catch up with more of my writing and images you’ll find them on FLOW’s home page.
My photography and mixed media art live here.
Until next week,
Lovely writing Michela. Gorgeous observations... I share your love of noticing. Do you read Rob Walkers Substack The Art of noticing?
Love your photography Michela, the lichen and moss are my favourites. I can't help photographing them myself when I see them too. Emily x