The Winter's Spring
Size: 21cm x 30cm.
Medium: Collage paper on board.
This is an original collage painting called 'The Winter's Spring'.
The 'paintings' are made using collage techniques from the words of the famous 'Northamptonshire peasant poet' John Clare. To make the original artworks I printed the poem in a range of colours and then cut, ripped, arranged and glued the words to make this artwork.
The words of the poem add a bit more magic to my imagination and allow you to see into the world of the poet John Clare (1793-1864) and me - the artist!
You can also read parts of the poems in the painting.
The Winter's Spring Original Painting
Jamie's artwork frequently uses a range of mixed media techniques that have also incorporated words. In recent years this has become more important and now collage is a major part of his work which often uses words poetry. The lines of various poems have been woven into his imagery - segments of which can be read.
The wide range of habitats such as wildflower meadows, wetlands, marshes, woodlands and wet grasslands are full of a diverse range of animals and birds. These offer endless inspiration for Jamie's artwork on a daily basis as he lives right on the edge of a stunning nature reserve near the towns of Higham Ferrers, Irthlingborough and Rushden.
Greetings Cards, Signed Prints and original artworks are available on these pages.
The Winter's Spring
The winter comes; I walk alone,
I want no bird to sing;
To those who keep their hearts their own
The winter is the spring.
No flowers to please--no bees to hum--
The coming spring's already come.
I never want the Christmas rose
To come before its time;
The seasons, each as God bestows,
Are simple and sublime.
I love to see the snowstorm hing;
'Tis but the winter garb of spring.
I never want the grass to bloom:
The snowstorm's best in white.
I love to see the tempest come
And love its piercing light.
The dazzled eyes that love to cling
O'er snow-white meadows sees the spring.
I love the snow, the crumpling snow
That hangs on everything,
It covers everything below
Like white dove's brooding wing,
A landscape to the aching sight,
A vast expanse of dazzling light.
It is the foliage of the woods
That winters bring--the dress,
White Easter of the year in bud,
That makes the winter Spring.
The frost and snow his posies bring,
Nature's white spurts of the spring.