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Vodka season

It’s Christmas and New Year’s time, but I must admit that the most important date for me remains the Winter Solstice. It happens around December 21st, the date of entry into winter on our calendars, and corresponds to the shortest day and therefore the longest night of the year. From there, the days start to get longer. For several millennia, humans have celebrated this date in many different ways and it is hardly surprising that in many religions and cultures throughout history and the world, the most important celebration of the year is around this date.

In the same way that it is always a bit paradoxical to see the days shorten as summer begins on June 21st, it is strange to see the days lengthen as we enter the heart of winter.

Winter has set in here in southern Norway and we’ve had a few weeks of constant cold, around -10°C. Under these conditions, the slightest bit of air in the absence of sunlight causes the watercolor to freeze on the paper almost instantly. So it’s time to paint with vodka! Yes indeed, it lowers the freezing point and allows me to continue painting comfortably. The behavior of the different pigments changes, some are less miscible than others. The wet technique becomes more complicated but this requires more direct choices, to go more straight to the point. Here, a field watercolor, of a young Common Gull, staying on the ice painted entirely with vodka, not a single drop of water!

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Structured by the field

Earlier this year, I took a daytrip along some coastal lakes known for their avifauna. The sea on one side, and intensive agriculture on the other. The weather was only adding to this austerity, with a low cloud ceiling and a powerful freezing and unceasing south wind. Few things to observe on this lake turned

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Keeping the breach open

Peregrine falcon in the distance in the heat haze. As is often the case in this kind of situation, I draw too big. It is small, too small, in the eyepiece of my spotting scope. However, I paint it large on my sheet of thirty by forty centimeters. The usual consequence is that I get

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I know she is still close

I’ll sleep there because the day before, a silhouette slipped in at the foot of this short cliff. A shadow between the trunks and black rocks of this forest, long after sunset. Third night in my sleeping bag, between the pines and blueberries, covered with a camouflage net. It’s mid-March. In this valley sheltered from

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