Andrew Cowdell, Snow at Hermitage, 2018

Andrew Cowdell, Snow at Hermitage, 2018, oil on board, 10 x 8 inches

My low-key paintings are defined by their subdued tones and colour mixtures that tend towards neutral browns, greens and greys. They seem a natural progression from my earlier monochrome works and allow me to explore the possibilities of a limited palette. It is precisely these sober tones which propel these landscapes into the gloomy, contradictory universe of romanticism. This of course makes sense as they bear witness to my admiration for Corot, Courbet and Friedrich. It is possibly my preoccupation with 19th Century painting that is somehow channelling timelessness into these paintings. They are imbued with a quality which seems to owe very little to our present epoch and, on reflection, these landscapes are totally devoid of people. It may well suggest that our information age is enticing people away from nature. However, I think nature will cope.

Andrew Cowdell, The way home, 2017

Andrew Cowdell, The way home, carbon and watercolour

The path tears through hedgerows across Bothampstead and cuts across fields toward the outskirts of Hermitage village. The familiar tree has become a symbolic signpost on a walk I've enjoyed countless times. It tells of home, journey's end, a couple of easygoing miles beyond the brow.

Andrew Cowdell, Dawn, 2017

Andrew Cowdell, Dawn, 2017, carbon and watercolour, 7 x 9"

These early morning sessions enable me to capture that sense of stillness when trees and fields are wet with the morning dew and the light of the breaking day has not reached its full intensity. The atmosphere created is both romantic and realistic.

Andrew Cowdell, Two crows at dawn, 2016

Andrew Cowdell. Two crows at dawn. 2016. Oil on linen.

My fascination with darkness requires an idea of light. In Two crows at dawn, the beauty of morning’s first light is matched by the eeriness generated by the arresting, black, thorn-like tangle of trees within the hedgerow. This traumatised landscape is a realm that snags, bites and troubles, and yet still invokes the pastoral dream of natural tranquillity. Beauty is envisaged here as William Blake’s “marriage of the contraries”, dependent upon both positive and negative aspects of existence.

The darkness of the setting serves as a representation of the Other, or the Unknown, which subtly imbues the scene with a sense of the supernatural. In subverting the aesthetic certainties of the usual green and pleasant Berkshire countryside, I am simultaneously identifying with both the picturesque and sinister presences within it. Presences which may include fiscal forces churning and poisoning the landscape; evidenced in the painting by tyre marks along the field margin. Alternatively, ‘absences’ may refer to the slow grinding away of our flora and fauna as species are lost; the two sentinel ‘carrion’ crows sent forth by vengeful nature. This landscape may even have its phantoms, lying or waiting where they fell or were taken at some unspecified time in history. And yet, all this darkness depends on the corresponding light of dawn as the beauty of the landscape reawakens.

But ultimately, I shall leave it to your own interpretation.

Andrew Cowdell, Clamour over Hermitage, 2016

Andrew Cowdell, Clamour over Hermitage, 2016, oil on linen

In this monochrome oil painting, a clamour of rooks enhances the beauty of the Berkshire landscape made desolate by the damp, overcast weather. 

In the following extract the French poet Arthur Rimbaud describes his affection for these raucous birds:

Lord, when the meadowland is cold, 

and when in the downcast hamlets the long Angeluses are silent.. 

down on Nature barren of flowers let 

them sweep from the wide skies, the dear delightful rooks. 

from The Rooks (Les Corbeaux)

by Arthur Rimbaud, 1854-1891

Andrew Cowdell, The Terrible Beauty of a Winter's Day, 2016

Andrew Cowdell, The Terrible Beauty of a Winter's Day, oil on linen

With only the corvids for company and little in the way of sunshine, the terrible beauty in my surroundings inspired the subject and title to this monochrome oil painting. The corvids I have painted are specifically rooks, which are still often spoken of under the general term ‘crow’. Many times have I observed these eccentric and ragged birds as they twist and tumble through the skies above their communal roosts in the woods. However, once out across the fields these rooks adopt a steady undeviating flight as they commute to their feeding grounds. It may be to rooks that the old saying ‘as the crow flies’ refers.

In the following extract James Thomson relates his meeting with rooks during a bygone winter:

See, Winter comes to rule the varied year,

Sullen and sad, with all his rising train—

Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme,

These, that exalt the soul to solemn thought

And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms!

…But chief the plumy race,

The tenants of the sky, its changes speak.

Retiring from the downs, where all day long

They pick’d their scanty fare, a black’ning train

Of clamorous rooks thick-urge their weary flight,

And seek the closing shelter of the grove.

from The Seasons: Winter

by James Thomson, 1700-1748