A case of art fortelling reality: how one cold winter morning I spotted a scene I had painted before

Covey of Partridges in Snow, limited edition print. Click to buy

As the snow fell last week I was reminded of one winter morning in similar December snows. I had woken early enough to see the thick blanket of snow lit up by moonlight. My first job each morning was to light the log burners. The cold air took my breath away as I stepped out on to the porch to fetch the wood. The thermometer on the wall read  -14ºC. After a quick breakfast I headed out to the car in the dark. As I began to defrost the windscreen the thermometer inside also read -14ºC. The drifts were three to four feet deep along the road, but thankfully a snow plough had just been through.

I was on my way to photograph woodcock and I wanted to be there at dawn. I knew of a pool of spring water at the bottom of a valley where the woodcock congregate and I had already put up a hide to watch them. But as I approached I saw what looked like an unusual mound in the pure white landscape. It turned out to be a group of partridges. They were huddled so closely together you couldn’t pick out an individual. I hoped they would be English, or grey partridges, which I have painted before in snowy landscapes. See below.

Greys on Winter Stubble, limited edition print, Click to Buy

 

Grey Partridge Calling, limited edition, Click to Buy

At first there was no sign of movement, so I waited until the sun rose. The air was so still; there wasn’t a soul around.  I could hear pheasants coming down from their roosts. As the sun started to peak above the horizon, the moon was still high in the sky and crows were calling in a nearby wood, as if announcing day break. Long blue shadows were cast over the snow, reminding me of a painting of red-legged partridges I had just finished.



As the sun rose in the sky there was a movement and the partridge’s heads began to appear, one by one. They remained in tight formation, some pecking the snow for food, but the snow was over a foot deep and they didn’t find any.  Some of them began to preen their feathers. As they stood close together with the blue tinged snow behind them it was as though the painting I had just finished in my studio (see above) had come to life and I was standing before it. Usually I paint from real scenes, but this felt like it was happening the wrong way round.

Then slowly, as the sun climbed higher, the rest of the landscape came alive. I watched a pair of great tits flying along the hedge before beginning to turn over leaves under a line of beech trees. They had found a spot where the snow had been blown away and were joined by a pair of blue tits and a coal tit as they foraged.







Soon a robin appeared in a hole in the beech tree above them, it must have roosted there overnight. The activity of the tits below didn’t go unnoticed and the robin soon joined in the search for food around the base of the tree. It had warmed up slightly and was now -10. Higher up the beech tree I could hear jackdaws. They appeared out of a hole in the trunk where they had also taken shelter from the cold. The morning light gave the beech tree branches a pinky purple tinge which was perfectly set off by the bright blue sky. At last the partridges started to disperse and one by one headed off to a nearby hedge also in search of food.

The moment inspired more paintings of red legged partridges in snow. See these below.

Red legged partridges in snow, limited edition print. Click to Buy.

 

The Proud Partridge, limited edition print, Click to buy.

It was too late for me to watch the woodcock, but I had spent a fascinating morning watching birds doing what they had to to survive what had been the coldest start to the winter for more than 100 years.

Follow the link below to read how I did manage to spot woodcock the following day:

 

https://www.robertefuller.com/winter-wildlife-how-heavy-snow-brought-one-of-europes-most-elusive-birds-the-woodcock-out-of-hiding/