Spicy Infusion.

Abstract landscape with acrylic/mixed medium.

11x14 inches.

£75

This painting will capture your senses in more ways than one. I added spices to my paints before applying. For the yellows, I used turmeric, which also gave the trunks a nice texture. The greens have cumin which gives a vibrant texture and feel. The blue was laced with peppermint, to give a pastel-like affect. The red has thyme, chunky pieces that smell divine. The house smelled wonderful but I don't know the long-term effects, whether the smells fade or go mouldy!. It will capture your imagination and your mind will never forget..

The Tower Blocks

Acrylic on canvas. 

20x16 in. 

Abstract.

£155

My first attempt at an abstract has gone pretty well. I applied water in tubes with the paint so it would flow down the canvas a bit easier. The colour's I used are all complimentary to each other because I was aiming for sharp contrasts and a 3-D image. Varying the strengths or weaknesses to get the desired run-off, I feel I conquered my goal of striving for the perfect painting.

Castle mural:- final details.

From £10 per square foot.

Prospect mill, Blackburn road, Bolton, UK. Demolished around1981.

Oil on canvas

12x14 inches

£125

As the textile age unravelled because of cheaper imports, so great Victorian mills like this were demolished. But that was not before time or because they were ugly. far from it. The picture shows an engine shed, built in the late fifties, to accommodate the machinery inside, whilst adding speed to the production line. The orange facier bricks, in stark contrast to the old Victorian monolith, add a more modern dimension. It was all to little to late. As unemployment rose sharply, workers were laid off, the mills fell silent. I entered a few times as a teen, looking round, alone in this giant, eerie shell. All the machines, cotton bales and artefacts just lay there as if everyone was on lunch break. Newspapers, half empty cups of tea sit in canteens. I never had a camera then, I'm gutted!. But I hope my picture stirs a bit of a loss inside you, as you look back on a world that has changed so dramatically...By R.A.Hall.

Park mill, Gaskell street, Bolton. Demolished around 1981.

Acrylic on boxed canvas, painted all round.

12x14 inches.

£85

The decline of the cotton industry saw many mills being pulled down. In Bolton, Halliwell, eleven mills were pulled down in the space of 3 years. Together with hundreds of Victorian terraced houses, it seemed like the whole area had been bombed. Or an image to that affect. It did open the horizon though, allowing you to see a lot further. But during this time, unemployment had risen to three and a half million so lots of people couldn't see beyond the horizon anyway!. I captured it in black & white first time round. Today, as I improve as an artist, my choice is colour.

Bradshaw brook, Bolton.

Oil on canvas

7x5 inches

£25 unframed.

Poppy fields.

Oil on canvas

9x16 inches

£125 unframed.

A packet of poppy seeds, goes a long, long way.....

Bradshaw brook, Bolton.

Oil on canvas board

8x6inches

£40 unframed.

Its hard to imagine this little brook could look so quaint after all these years of neglect. Volunteers, conservationists, are all hard at work now, stripping back the dead hand of time. Or to put it more poetically, the hands of nature that man could not control after his self indulgence, 100 years ago, exploded and strangled the unkempt countryside, especially waterways, railway embankments and hedgerows.

Giant hog-weeds continue to march on. Himalayan balsam thrives like scenes from 'Day of the Triffids'.  And worst of all, the Japanese knot weed that penetrates through solid concrete. But lets not forget the bindweed, so rampant, it covers even the above mentioned, strangling, tangling and suffocating all native species. 

Now that brings me back to my Plein air painting. Done on location at a spot that had been hidden for 30 years or more. I sit in peace on the bank of the brook, looking across at mans construction, right on the waters edge. Lots of conditions played a part in him retreating from here. It would have been forgotten but for all the hard work of the Balsam army. And one little known local artist, who played here as a child, 40 years ago!. 

High & Dry

Oil on canvas board.

8x6 inches.

£25 unframed.

This is the spot, on Leverhulme park, where the river Tong and Bradshaw brook meet, in more turbulent times. The black bank, on the opposite side of the river, shows the usually height of the water. Summer hasn't been particular hot, though it has been dry. Dry enough to leave these would be skimmers plenty of ammunition for their daily sport. The dog loved it too as he waded in after every stone. This sandbank is often flooded with the swirling waters so everyone that passed, had an opportunity to break records.

I sat and took it all in at first, with dog lovers not keen to make eye contact for fear of being trapped in a painting. They quickly moved upstream. Young children however, screamed with delight at every throw, often glancing back to see if I had captured their new record.

Bradshaw brook, seven acres.

Oil on canvas

8x6 inches

£25 unframed

It was 2:00pm, very hot with no breeze, as I treked round seven acres, looking for a spot to paint, especially out of the sun. Though somewhere nice, where I could see plenty of bright sunlight in the distance.

I found this place, just down a steep bank, on an island that had been cut off from the recent hot weather. With highland balsam, tall grasses, I cleared a little patch to make a better view.

As the gently waters flowed by, the tranquility took over. One of the most peaceful places I have painted yet!, even though I'm a stones throw from the modern factory and main road above...By R.A.Hall

Early morning sunshine behind the trees.

Oil on canvas board

8x6 inches

£25 unframed.

After dropping my youngest son off at school, I took a short cut through seven acres country park. It was really, bright dazzling sunshine and only 9:00am. It was rising slowly behind the trees. I picked a nice spot in the long grass to capture this moment. Just the other day, I got soaked in the same spot. And I was also unprepared, had no provisions or had the right equipment.

Being blinded by the brightness, I thought I had painted to dark but the result,once back home, my eyes adjusted, the  painting looks great.

Young oak.

Oil on canvas board

7x4 inches

£25

Down on Seven acres, I have passed this tree many times without taking notice. During the dry sunny spell, I was looking for shade whilst attempting to paint. Sitting beneath its branches, I took in its shape, smell, colour. 

The trunk was only about two foot tall, with branches that looked like the splayed legs of a new born impala. It looked top heavy. One major branch (front of tree) had been snapped off, as well as other smaller ones. New growth almost covered the wounds. It seemed someone big and heavy had trodden on this once young sapling. 

Now, as it struggled to survive, rooting into the ruined walls of the old mill, the hot, dry weather became its enemy as it evaporated the life giving water. But survive it has. About twenty years in fact looking at its overall size, especially the trunk. Even as the modern factory encroaches yearly...By R.A.Hall

The chicken coops.

Oil on canvas board

12x8inches

£25

Sandwiched by two main roads, Bradshaw brook flows beneath the junction out of sight from passing motorists, many who don't even know of its existence. Others do but care little for its beauty, rhythm or idyllic charm, as it tumbles by.

None would know of the little farmstead that hides behind a garage, down a steep embankment beneath the busy roads. Or care about the chickens, pecking away below, scratching for grubs, squabbling noisily. 

With a new fence keeping them in, secure from tyre's and tired, irrate drivers, the chickens are blissfully unaware of the threat. They just love the sound of the brook, the insects falling from trees, and the damp earth providing juicy worms. All in this small enclave, beneath the junction that rattles without stop. Happy to see the painter who stops to appreciate their rickety home...By R.A.Hall

The modern Factory.

Oil on canvas card

12x9inches

£25

I sit amongst the shell of an old derelict mill, once the hub of the early textile age. Its boundaries, just recognizable through the vegetation. Reeds and tall grasses thrive in the boggy remains of the once solid foundations, swamping the walls that lie crumpled and forlorn. I sit in silence, recalling the sounds of those once hard at work, watching them as they sweat and toil.

I smell the remains of the long gone fabrics, the bleach and dyes that coloured their wears. I absorb the surroundings like a new born. 

Young trees, shrubs, foreign weeds grow in abundance. Obliterating what's left. Sucking the life out of the remaining debris. Sprouting from the ground that man had once changed for his advantage. But has now given up the struggle as saplings become mature trees. The challenge to great and costly.

And in the distance that foe beckons. With greater technology. Cheaper materials. Now the need to secure more land - he returns. Encroaching monthly, he reclaims his land. Building a new style of factory for a very modern man. With prefabricated sheets of steel, his new found freedom fills the void of those long gone. And in his wake, a modern day factory rises to show his determination... By R.A.Hall

Shade by the river...

Oil on canvas board

12x8 inches

£25

Another warm and sunny day to get outside and paint. Without the threat of showers!. I picked a quiet spot, next to an oak tree but when I sat down, I couldn't see the water. If I attempted to get closer, I would slide down the balsam, towards the river. I pulled loads up to make my platform so I could see better too. It was really peaceful, quiet, with the gentle rhythm of the river beneath my feet. I had to unpack and make a start. From the other bank, long grasses swept up before dropping down into a shallow depression towards the trees. From here, I could get a nice contrast between the yellow grasses and the distant trees. Those trees swept away to my right, receding gently as they disappeared. With the sun behind my right shoulder, I began the task of capturing this tranquil moment.

Verdant Bridge. Seven acres,Bolton.

Oil on canvas board.

6x9ins.

£25

This was my second outdoor painting, completed today. I was struggling for a good spot. The grass was very long to start with, or, there was a tree in the way. The weather wasn't to kind either. Hot sun on my back one minute, torrential rain in my face the next. Brolly up. Packed away. Sun came out. So my second attempt looks rather hit and miss. Better luck tomorrow, with a more relaxed forecast.

Through the rushes.

Oil on canvas

12x8 inches

£25

This is the first oil painting I have done outside for years. I just had the urge!. With temperatures soaring to 25 Celsius, I had to chose today and was cut short but the sharp showers and plummeting heat. At 18 degrees, it wasn't to bad but I also chose the wrong material to paint on. Heavy duty card does not stand up to summer rain!. I started from about 11am, having a good spell until about 12noon. I did a few adjustments back home, though I'm quite pleased the way the overall session went. Better be prepared next time.

Sleep tight. Don't let the soldiers fight!.

Acrylic on boxed canvas painted all round.

22x24

£95

Water of Life...

Water of life...

Oil on canvas :- 20x24

£250

From my earliest recollections, I remember my mother, always having a drink in her hand. What its contents were, would not be revealed to my virgin mind until I was old enough to understand. What I do understand is that it lead to some bizarre rituals. Like chanting to herself, shouting out obscenities, in fact terrifying us all into quiet, unemotional wrecked children. You didn't dare make eye contact with her because if you did, you would become the focus of her mad, incoherent rage. She would force you to sit on her knee and make you kiss her, quite sexualized in manner. If you got it wrong, she would practice on you until you got it right. You would have to tell her how much you loved her, what you wanted to do with her body, kiss her. You had all the other children's eyes on you, making you shrink inside. Drop to the bottom of the deepest ocean to escape. But she soon brought you back to reality with a slap. She might even bite your lip, face or ear. She would ask why you were pulling away. Scream vulgar words of hatred. Hit you hard. Then toss you to one side like you were unworthy of her sexualized deprivation. You were scum. Until next time, or she picked on one of the others...and that brought new fears...

Breakfast!. Best meal of the day.

Acrylic on boxed canvas painted all round

Oil on canvas:-20x24

£195.

This is one of a series I'm going to paint from memories of childhood. I have chosen to paint them as  negative images like those from an old camera. I have added colour from memory to give them a bit of reality and clarity from the gloom surrounding us. I have carried this around with me for so long, I feel I will never unshackle the pain. I have talked about my childhood with great difficulty. It often ended with me getting really angry, very uptight with everyone around me and also very emotional. In the picture, we see lots of children. I'm 1 0f 9. We are all 12 to 13 months apart. To say it was chaotic is an understatement. To say it was highly charged is like saying a candle is the same as a spotlight. Represented by the children, you may notice they are all scrawny, is the deprivation, squalor and hunger that surrounds them. In stark contrast, you will notice my mother, glass of port in hand, with a cigarette in the other, and lots of wine in the background to show her disregard for our upbringing. Fit and healthy, meat on her bones, compared to our skeletal frames. Even the dog was fed better; incidentally by me. We often shared a bowl of dried cereal, that's if there was any left. My eldest sister was on hand to look after herself. Please discuss...

Where emotions collide.

Childhood dreams. An emotional train wreck knocks at the door. Inside, a tiny entity holds on to his inner beauty. Rattling and bellowing the train keeps on coming. The door holds for now so the dream keeps soothing. Inside the station the boy looks at peace, secure from the wreckage, falling at his feet. Tears suppress hatred, fear overrides pleasure, as one last surge envelopes his destiny forever. Emotions are lost in a swirl of lust, as harrowing cries plead she just needs love. Crawling from her bottle, a mother drowns his dreams for her lust turns to anger as it satisfied her needs. Now his destiny is trapped within this shrine, he knows not how to break from the station walls. He sees the passengers but there all free. He sees plenty of trains but none are going his way. He sits and waits but everyone goes by. Growing lonely each day and night. Something stirs, its a creative scheme, paint my memories for all to see!. Smiles and happiness allow him to stand, the colours of his palette lie in his hands. Holding on tight, he knows what to do, but anger suppresses, the feeling turns blue. The barriers come down as emotions run high. Locked in his prison or self made shrine. On and on the train wreck comes. Love knows no barrier when your young. On and on his dreams take hold as an angry adult slowly unfolds...