Mist on the Tarn — A Quiet New Watercolour That Has Me Hooked

Some paintings shout. Others lean in close and whisper — and this one is firmly in the second camp.

A new watercolour landscape has just made its way onto the gallery wall, and I've barely been able to walk past it without stopping. It's a small, quiet study of a high mountain tarn at dawn — the water like brushed pewter, and a thin mist still threading through the bracken on the far bank. There are no figures, no drama, no postcard sunset. Just early light, soft hills, and that particular hush you only get at altitude before the day has fully woken up.

What I love about watercolour is how honest it is. There's no painting over your mistakes, no thick impasto to hide behind — the water either listens to the artist or it doesn't. Here, it has clearly listened. The wet-into-wet sky bleeds gently into the hills, while the sharper foreground reeds were laid down with a confident, almost calligraphic flick of the brush. The whole piece feels alive, as if the mist might lift if you stood there long enough.

It's the kind of painting that doesn't fight a room. It settles into a quiet hallway, a study, a bedroom — somewhere you naturally pause for a breath.

If you'd like to come and see it in person — or simply pop in for a chat about watercolours over a cup of tea — I'd love to say hello. Drop by whenever the door is open, or get in touch and we'll arrange a quiet moment for you to spend with it.