Arthur’s Stone Herefordshire

We’re putting out the flags!

The Poetry of Painting

The Barn Gallery

Hereford Wildlife Trust,

Birches Farm Nature Reserve HR5 3EY

Alongside poetic interpretations of landscapes, figures and seascapes for sale are more traditional and detailed narrative paintings of well-loved views.

Each painting has its own unique colour range and there is something to suit everyone’s taste and budget.

The Exhibition will be open during nearby Hay-on-Wye Book Festival so why not call in on your way?

There’s plenty of free parking and Birches Farm Nature Reserve is set in 60 acres of wildflower meadows, so you can stroll the paths to the wild life pond to the high point of the site to experience some wonderful landscape views for yourself.

We are open Monday 30th May, Tuesday 31st May

and Wednesday 1st June from 10am - 4pm

How to get there from Hereford: Leaving Hereford on the A438, continue onto the A4111 through Eardisley towards Kington. After a left hand sign to Chickward the road bends to the right and the Barn Gallery is on your right>

Below The Wassailers Unexpectedly Encounter The Green Man

Below The Magic of Magnolias

Below Hay Bluff - A Sprinkling of Snow

The Exhibition is called The Poetry of Painting so I have included some of my non rhyming poems about painting, written overt decades!

Colour Poem, or Painting with words Susan Edwards (Billiard Room Studio,1995)

White is the expectant page,

Gamboge a laugh of yellow cracking teeth,

Ultramarine an ethereal escape.

Vermillion seeps across the page,

Siena sings of sundrenched earth,

And black is not what it is cracked up to be.

To paint (Billiard room 1995)

To paint is more than learn,

More than know,

Less than achieve

Or understand.

It is more or less

To disappear through

A hole in the canvas,

And meet yourself

On the other side.

Each brush stroke a small death.

2010 The travelling artist collects images while lecturing on Cruise Ships

I am an artist

I do not need to buy your wares.

Locked in my vision

Is the structure of your face,

The patterns of light which move across the land,

The sudden flash of uncaptured colour.

Later I’ll explore,

and through the archaeology

And alchemy of art,

I’ll relive my private history,

And reconstruct the sense of being there.

Privileged view point 03

This particular sunset

Will never come again.

The arrangement of indigo

Tinged with alizarin.

Nor will it ever be seen

From here,

By anyone but me.

A privileged viewpoint

is a gift from God.

For everyone

Wild night in the lane 1995 (Billiard Room)

Often leaving my Billiard Room Studio (Meldon Park, Northumberland) around midnight to drive home to Morpeth after a long portrait painting session, my brain superimposed colours from the painting onto the road home, and I particularly loved driving past the row of Northumbrian wind bent trees at Blackheddon

The purple road

Paints itself before me,

Vanishing into vapour.

Yellow leaves fall like phantoms.

I will the sculpted trees to wait

Till I return,

To brace their sinuous backs

Against ensuing storms.

‘Survive for me

and I will come again in winter

to paint your naked vigour

and all your lovely strength

laid bare

against the white sheet of the sky’

Getting my mind right at breakfast to face a day’s painting 28 Jan 2021

I’ve got it down to a fine art,

Breakfast with omelette and pills.

The fruitbowl tempts , accuses.

The elegance of pears.

The brown bananas.

The wooden kiwi on the fridge declares

I really did go to New Zealand,

And whisks me off with marmalade

To Isabella Mamatua,

Who revealed to me with anguished eyes

The tribal imposition

Of her tattooed beard.

The portrait on the easel

Terrifies and thrills

With equal force.

While thoughts retreat defensively

Along the shortening road to good intensions.

The portraits waiting mutely

To be finished are

A friend in Linen red

And hat with summer brim,

And mother captured quickly on the rise of fleeting thoughts,

Her age - the same

As I am now.