My Artist's Journey Through Nature...

As I swam with the falling tide, in the waters of the River Exe today, memories of past solstice swims joined me…

Swimming in the River Dart

Through the darkness, we drove along twisty lanes from Lympstone, in East Devon, to bivvy at Watcombe Beach. My daughter, recently returned from VSO volunteering in Nigeria, sat alongside me. United in the joy of being together again, we were ready for adventure. We wanted to welcome the sun as we rose on the summer solstice. We wanted to feel her warmth on our faces as we swam in the cool sea and we wanted to stretch time savouring this precious moment of togetherness.

Experienced campers, but never having bivvied before, the sense of adventure made us feel wonderfully alive as we walked softly through velvet darkness of the midnight hour. We welcomed our night vision to guide us on the steep, sometimes uneven, path through salt-touched woods. Shadowy forms climbed silently skywards leaving dense undergrowth below edging our footsteps, until replaced by rock we found ourselves standing on the beach catching our first glimpse of moonlight on inky water. Nestled under the sea wall, our friends lay sleeping- hummocks of blackness in the moon-shadow.

I loved every moment of this arrival - creeping to a secret sleeping spot, rolling out bivvies, settling ourselves until we felt comfort come with our makeshift pillows of clothes. In the stillness of the night, with nothing more than a whisper of a breeze, the stars captured our gaze; we lay in perfect peace - tiny players in the universe above- until sleep claimed us.

This gentle silence ended suddenly with barking and a screeched ‘Scarlet come here, I’m not walking you ever again’. It was four in the morning - first light was on its way. This refrain was repeated again and again with increasing volume and anger, whilst Scarlet refused to obey and raced oblivious across the pebbles. Awake now, I was struck by how the voice of this stranger contrasted so sharply with the calm way she sat at the shoreline drawing out a triangle in the sand. Carefully placing and lighting a candle at each corner before sitting motionless beside her solstice offering. Scarlet continued to run. We all find peace in our own way…

Solstice Sunrise at Watcombe Beach

It was time to enter the water. My diary tells me ‘the swim was sensational, the water cool but beautiful. I loved it.’ I remember the magnificence of the rising sun lighting up both the water and our smiles as we became at one with nature in a moment of spiritual, sunrise swimming. The Watcombe solstice swim was part of a year of swimming fifty swims in fifty places that I had never swum in before. I started in the sea swimming all year round in the October of my Dad’s death. It wasn’t really a choice, as the call of the water was too strong for that. This intense pull lifted me out of a state of numb grief when I found it hard to function beyond the bare minimum. Two years later, the water’s pull on this solstice sunrise was still as strong but now rather than a place to feel something, anything, the water became a place of peace, a place to be held. Many years have passed now and I still swim all year round, now through choice rather than need. A choice to be in nature, a choice to be still and a choice to let hidden pathways in my brain open and connect. I think of them as pathways of possibility because for that short time, straight after a swim, everything starts to feel right and the energy flow is really quite magical.

Watcombe Beach

I have started to write on Substack as a way of welcoming you on to my artistic journey. I can show you how my artwork is entwined with walking and swimming in nature’s beautiful estuary waters, Dartmoor rivers, coast paths and the sea of Devon and Cornwall. Being immersed in the natural world slows me down and quietens my mind. In all weathers and temperatures, I have a response and it is that response, that peace that I try to capture as I lay down layers of paint and ink. The colours and textures come together to tell their own stories. I stand back, I look at my paintings and I feel the peace within them. It is this peace that others see too as my paintings venture onwards, sometimes accompanied with words. If you would like to find out more about my work, maybe find your own ‘piece of peace’ and let my paintings tell you their stories then do join me on my gentle journey of nature and art.

Silver on the Water