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Category: Paintings of the Japanese countryside
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Painting of a farmer’s fire in rural Japan
I have this amazing painting.
Sadly, I have no amazing story to go with it.
In fact, the origin of this painting is murky.
I’m pretty sure that it is from a photo I took.
I’m not sure if I still have the photo but I can still remember that photo.
And I’m pretty sure that I took this photo when I was driving in the countryside.
I’m not sure if I was alone and I stopped and took the photo.
I think that was the case.
But I could have been in the car with my family on some excursion when I saw this scene.
And I can’t remember the exact location.
I think I’d just passed a row of houses in the countryside, gone over a bridge and then I came upon this scene.
I think if I pass the same place again then I will recall it.
It was definitely in Oita prefecture where I live.
But that’s all I can remember.
At some point, I have to do some more paintings of smoke (or mist) in the countryside as I think they will turn into amazing paintings such as this one.
And it will be so fun to paint them.
That’s all for now,
Gareth.
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Painting of car headlights on a country road at dusk
I live next to a busy road in a Japanese city called Oita.
I hate it.
I want to escape this place and go and live in nature.
And the best thing to do in nature is farming.
Or rather, that is probably the only thing I can do there.
So recently, I traveled to a place called Nakatsu to meet two women who were going to teach me about organic farming.
They live in a big house at the bottom of a hill and next to rice fields.
The rice fields were a golden yellow color.
And the rice was being harvested.
It was a beautiful place.
As is the Japanese custom, I gave them a gift – which was some cakes.
We had a bit of a chat.
And then the two women gave me some interesting compost to take home with me.
It was light, dry blocks of rotten wood upon which mushrooms had been grown.
They told me that it was excellent compost.
And they gave me a lot of it.
After that the two women took me to their field.
I thought it would be next to their house, but it was actually quite far away and we had to go by car.
Here they are growing green peppers, sweet potatoes and bitter melons – which they call goya in Japanese.
I helped them pick some vegetables.
And aftewards, they generously gave me some of their vegetables.
I was delighted to receive this organic produce.
This place though was very remote, very empty of human life and very quiet.
And I wondered if I would be able to live here by myself and be okay.
I could see myself becoming terribly lonely.
However, I still want to try living in the Japanese countryside.
Anyway, after that they took me to a roadside station.
Here they recommended vegetable plants that would be good to grow in my garden.
I bought these plants and some vegetables.
I also bought some locally produced pickled plums and stick-shaped cheesecakes for my wife and daughter.
My daughter loves salty foods like pickled plums and sweet things like cheesecakes.
Coming home I had the good fortune to see a beautiful scene of car headlights on a winding country road and a beautiful evening sky in the background.
I took a photo and later at home I did the painting above.
The photograph though didn’t capture very well the brillance of the scene.
At least in my mind, in the actual scene there was a very strong contrast of a warm orange evening sky against blue gray clouds.
So in the painting, I did my best to emphasize that contrast – even perhaps exaggerate it.
I’m quite happy with the result.
But one day I might have another go.
That’s all for now,
Gareth.
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Peaceful painting of two people walking along a countryside path at evening time
This painting began with another painting that I did around 2013.
I loved the mood of the painting.
It was a late evening scene with a countryside path and figures walking along the path that looked a little like ghosts.
So I decided to have another go.
I wanted to do an improved version.
However, rather than improving upon it, I ended up creating a new kind of mood – which is how it normally goes with these “improved” versions.
At least that is my opinion.
But I’m happy with this new painting and I’m glad I had the courage to try and improve upon the original painting.
That’s all for now,
Gareth.
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Painting rays of light passing through trees in a Japanese park
A few years ago I went with my wife and daughter to a family walking event.
It was at a park around the art museum in a district called Ueno.
The park is situated on a hill.
And it has a path that leads you through a densely forested area with some open glades.
When we arrived we found a small group of dads, mums and excited children.
I noticed that even though we were only going to walk around a small park, many of the parents were fully kitted out with professional hiking gear.
Having the best gear and the whole set, is something Japanese people like to do.
Anyway, it was a nice day out.
And along the path there were various interesting things to see.
The most interesting of which, at least for me, was the pond.
This seemingly innocuous pond was full of crabs.
I was told there were about a 1000 in it.
Which was impressive because it was a small pond.
I was further told that these crabs had come from America.
They are called “zarigani” in Japanese.
In English, they are called crayfish.
And these crabs are nasty as they like to pinch.
One man took one out and showed us.
As you can imagine the kids were thrilled.
And then he did what we all wanted to see.
He let the crab pinch his finger.
And he couldn’t completely conceal a wince when the crab pinched him and drew blood.
He had a bit of a tough time getting the crab off his finger but at last managed to do so and put it back in the pond.
It was a nice day out.
However, the day after that outing, I got a mark on my arm.
It was an ugly mark and it was really itchy.
It took a few weeks before it went.
I guess something unpleasant had bitten me during the outing in the park.
In Japan, you have to be very careful what you touch in natural areas.
They have a tick in my prefecture that can even kill you.
I guess that’s why even in the middle of the hot and humid Japanese summer the Japanese farmers cover their bodies completely.
The only part of them you can see is their nose and eyes.
But me, the foolish romantic artist, am often prancing around the countryside in sandals and shorts.
What I’ve learnt though is that it’s a good idea to copy the local yokel.
Anyway, I did no paintings of this place on this occasion.
But a year or so later in November of 2020 I was looking through some photos on my cell phone and came across one from this outing.
And when I looked at it I suddenly got the inspiring idea of rays of light shooting through those dark trees and lighting up a small group of people.
Luckily I acted on such inspiration, which you should always do, and immediately started to paint it.
I am delighted with the result.
This beautiful effect of light passing through trees is called “komorebi” in Japanese.
And this is how it is spelt in Chinese characters “木漏れ日”.
木 (pronounced ko) means tree, 漏れ (pronounced more) means light passing through and 日 (pronounced bi) means sun.
That’s all for now,
Gareth.
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Painting a beautiful countryside scene near a cafe where I will have an exhibition
So this is not really a story but just an attempt to add some context to this painting.
In my story “Taking a wrong turn” you can learn about how I came to know the owner of a cafe with a gallery called Mizushi no Mori.
This cafe is situated in Kuju which is a beautiful national park.
And although my primary purpose in visiting this cafe was to get the chance to exhibit there, I couldn’t help appreciating the beautiful countryside around the cafe.
The painting above is from a scene I saw near this cafe.
It was February. At that time of the year, there are beautiful leafless trees and golden fields.
Towards the end of this year, 2015, I reused the same scene and turned it into a snow scene. I then used this snow scene image on Christmas cards for my family.
“Snow-covered fields” That’s all,
Gareth.
Postscript
This story was written in February of 2015.
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Watercolor painting of Japanese haystacks
Today I was just going to sit in the studio and paint. But then my wife suggested that I go out and paint as it was such a beautiful day.
My relaxing day suddenly became a hectic one. Now, I was planning a trip and wondering where would be the best place to go.
Should I look for a watery place such as a port or a river as I might be doing a big exhibition next year on the theme of water? But then it is autumn and the leaves are so beautiful so maybe I should be painting them before they’ve all fallen off the trees.
And then I have to take into account that I only have about 8 hours.
Eventually, probably while in the shower, a place in the countryside called Yufuin came to mind and the other possibilities were abandoned.
And that’s how it started. But as so often happens when I try to go to Yufuin I never arrive. On the way, I always stop because I see a scene that I want to paint. I think this is a good thing. In my opinion, outdoor artists must always be opportunists.
I stopped at a place called Shonai. It was midway between my starting point, Oita city, and Yufuin.
In this place, the road runs next to an enormous gorge and the sight was so spectacular I had to stop and paint it – or at least try. I did two paintings and both were disappointing.
Anyway, I thought it would be a good idea to see the river close up. So I tried to descend down to the river at the bottom of the gorge along a small trail through a bamboo forest. I stopped though when I reached a waterway with no apparent way around it.
Next to the waterway, there was a huge sign that was peppered with rust and had tiny flakes of paint sticking off it but which despite the damage clearly said danger in Japanese.
I accidentally brushed my hand against the sign which was sharp and for the next hour worried about blood poisoning despite knowing that such a shallow graze was harmless.
After my misadventure on the mountain I’ve become more anxious.
And then it was back to the road to look for another scene. There wasn’t enough time for Yufuin now so the next painting scene had to be nearby. And luckily fairly soon I came across a field with some beautiful Japanese haystacks.
The shape of these haystacks and the arrangement of them in the field was like a very beautiful work of art. After finding a place to park I was soon in the fields looking for a good composition.
Unlike the first scene this was quite an easy one to paint.
As well as the haystacks I liked the stubbly rice field. It had a wonderful pattern and I could spend hours playing around trying to capture that amazing pattern and texture.
I also liked the contrast of the yellow trees against the cool blue of the background mountain.
This was truly a wonderful subject and the light was glorious. What more could you wish for? Well, perhaps the chance to do another painting.
That’s all,
Gareth.
Postscript
I originally wrote this story in December of 2014, I edited it in 2022.
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Romantic peaks and foolish painters
“Painting above the clouds” What is the first thing an artist needs?
I’d say passion.
And that is something I have in abundance. And it’s a good thing. It means I’m doing the right thing.
Passion though makes you do foolish things as you will read in this story.
So it all began with driving along a winding road looking for a painting subject.
Don’t ever let an artist drive. My eyes were wandering, looking for inspiration, and the car was also wandering too.
Then, suddenly, to my surprise and delight, a beautiful twin peaked mountain appeared which I instantly recognized as Mt. Yufudake. This mountain is easy to recognize as it has two peaks. Although I had been here recently, I was still very unfamiliar with this area.
I parked the car, strolled about a hundred meters up the mountain and enjoyed the beautiful view.
It was about five and the sun was beginning a slow descent into a quiet evening moment. Soft and spectacular shadows began to slowly appear across the contours of the mountain and moment by moment they lengthened more and more dramatically.
In front of me, one small round hill had a dramatic arc of light across the top and was so beautiful I just had to paint it. The painting was a flop. But I also did some hasty sketches to try and capture this beautiful fleeting scene. I would later use these as a reference for paintings.
Below is one of the paintings that I later did at home from these hasty sketches.
“Walking down a mountain trail at evening time” The next day, I was going to stay at home when my wife said, like the voice of fate, why don’t you go out. It was already ten but I thought okay and returned to this mountain even though I had work at five.
I started climbing the mountain at about eleven thirty. I don’t really know what was going on in my mind, do we ever, there was just a passion to see those two jagged rocky peaks up close.
At first it was a gentle slope but soon it became steeper and because of my limited time a leisurely pace was not an option and so it was even harder than it had to be.
About an hour or so into the climb (I lost track of time) I felt like quitting. I carried on but started taking little ladybug steps. Although this felt easier on my body it was very difficult to maintain that pace. This is probably because I wanted to walk with my normal stride.
I stopped two more times and really felt like quitting, especially when a passerby told me it was another thirty minutes to the summit.
My climb had become a slow, stumbling affair with many stops. And I was amazingly thirsty, my throat was parched. The barley tea that I normally force myself to drink was now like nectar from the gods and it was difficult not to drink it all in one go.
Eventually, I reached the gap between the jagged rocky peaks. There was another 70 meters to the very top of each one. However, I didn’t think I had enough time to climb any further. I also needed some time for painting.
I did a quick 30 minute painting which was good as the subject was so overwhelmingly complicated and the short time enforced simplification. It was a beautiful scene and made all the effort feel worthwhile.
Lunch, ‘made’ by me, preparation time 30 seconds, was a whole tomato and a chunk of tough, ageing Italian bread. It tasted fantastic. You often hear hunger is the best sauce, climbing a mountain is another good one.
Then I had one hour to descend which I did like a person on the run, bringing quite a few rocks down with me, and using my easel like a walking stick.
I’d been foolish and I’d gone up the mountain with all my art equipment. I wish I hadn’t carried two liters of water for painting. Most of it got tipped out onto the top of the mountain.
I had fixed my watercolor pad to the back of my bag where it swung viciously from side to side. However, this allowed me to use both my hands for swinging from trees or holding on to them as I perfected the baboon’s method for descending mountains, namely: quick, painful and possibly perilous.
Next time, I might follow Peter Woolley, an experienced mountain trekker and watercolor artist, who takes just a pencil and a small sketch-pad. This is a much more intelligent strategy. But I know I probably won’t because of a passion for painting on the mountain.
I jarred my ankles countless times, slipped seriously one time on a mould covered rock and almost bent my leg the other way when I slipped on loose stones. But I descended the mountain in about 50 minutes.
My passion to paint those peaks up close had made me foolish in attempting to climb a mountain in such a short time.
The next day, I was walking like Robocop. The day after that was worse. At the art shop, on the stairs, I was so slow I had to stop and let an old man pass me. The day after that I couldn’t step off the weighing scales.
Today, I’m a little better. In fact, my passionate spirit is saying let’s go up that mountain again, but my body is pleading: give us a break. Not yet, maybe 2015.
And here is the painting I did of one of the jagged mountain peaks.
“Mountain peak” I like this painting. It has a nice feeling. But I have standards and this work doesn’t quite reach them. Even after thirteen years of painting I still produce many works like this that don’t reach the mark.
That’s all for now, Gareth.
Postscript
I originally wrote this story in September of 2014. I edited it in 2022. I vividly remember this day!
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Don’t go painting outside in holey sandals
“Relaxing walk by a small stream” It’s time to say goodbye to my sandals.
My holey, not holy, sandals that is.
And I learnt you should never take a walk in nature with holey sandals.
But this is what I did and I stepped on something full of tiny needles. One of God’s wonderful creations!
It’s especially not a good idea to wear holey or flimsy sandals when you walk in the Japanese countryside because it is a rugged place full of sharp and thorny things not to mention the ants that bite and the odd slithering snake.
Despite this hole and a tasteful suntan with the outer half of my legs red and the inner half moth white I had a great time in the countryside.
And, I can honestly say, it was all worth it when you can find scenes like the one above.
So I did a painting of the scene and then I got back in the car and decided to explore some more.
I was on a painting adventure, looking for scenes to paint, and this had taken me to a small country road behind Beppu town. It was a new place for me and full of interesting things to see and paint.
I drove just a short distance before coming to a wide open area with a beautiful mountain that had a climbing trail. The first part of the trail was a gentle slope that would be easy to climb in my sandals. I later found out that this mountain is called Yufudake.
I ascended in my sandals. It was just grassy and so I didn’t have to worry about the hole in my sandals. But I wasn’t too adventurous on this occasion and only went about 300 meters up the side of the mountain.
I was in my casual attire and quite a contrast to the Japanese trekkers who were all kitted out in the latest hiking fashions.
One woman was wearing black lycra tights and fluorescent green shorts. Seeing them led to the vision of a pair of fluorescent shorts seemingly walking by themselves up a mountain at night.
The scenery was amazing. The bottom of the mountain was a grassy slope but scattered with large rocks and small trees. Higher up it became a dense forest and at the top it ended in two rocky peaks.
As the sun slowly started to sink, dramatic shadows started to slowly appear and then to snake slowly and sinuously down the mountain surface. I was mesmerized by these slow slithering shadows.
I didn’t do any painting. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to do justice to the beauty of the scene and besides I had run out of watercolor paper.
Instead, I did a lot of drawings to try and capture that spectacular beauty.
Below is a painting that I later did from these drawings and my memory.
“Walking down a mountain trail at evening time” Upon returning to the car, I was surprised to see two trekkers just beginning to climb the mountain. I reckoned that it would take about two and a half hours to reach the peak and it was already about 6.30 in the evening. They were carrying big backpacks so they might have intended to sleep on the top of the mountain.
I wondered what that experience would be like. Little did I know that I would soon be having that experience. You can read about my misadventure on Mt. Yufudake here.
That’s all for now,
Gareth.
Postscript
I originally wrote this story in September of 2014. I edited it in 2022.
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A painting from a walk in the mountains of Beppu
Last week, I spent a whole day at my exhibition. I don’t think it helped sales but I learnt about what paintings people liked.
On the final day of the exhibition, after I had finished and had packed away my work, I decided that I needed some fresh air. This was a cafe where people could smoke and I could feel that tobacco as a heaviness in my lungs and I didn’t like it.
So I drove up the mountain, found an interesting place and stopped.
This was all impromptu.
The weather was cloudy and it was raining very lightly. I thought that I would just take a few photos.
But then I found myself taking a short stroll. And then I found myself walking up the mountain. This involved walking through a huge, empty and square-shaped concrete tunnel with a very strong echo which provided me with some great amusement.
After this, I saw steam coming out of the drains. I definitely knew that I was not in England!
Although this area had the usual ugliness of modern suburban Japan there were a few beautiful sites, such as a dramatic 60 meter high waterfall, a very elegant traditional Japanese gate and the scene in the painting above which I really liked and which made the whole venture worthwhile.
In this scene, I especially like the steam rising up. It creates a wonderful atmosphere. And, of course, I like that beautiful stone wall.
After taking a few photos of this scene I went further on up the mountain via a lot of small winding paths which led through a small forest and even past one of the pipes where steam was gushing out. There is no fencing around the pipe and the noise was so high-pitched that I had to cover my ears.
On my return, I came upon a fork in the path with a sign that told tourists they could walk along one of the paths for about 17 kilometers and about 19 kilometers on the other.
I felt a strong temptation to walk along one of these paths but it was getting late and I had family responsibilities: namely, a two year old. But I am looking forward to coming back here one day and walking along these paths. I’m really curious about what’s around here, fingers crossed there might be some beautiful sights.
Somewhere upon this mountain, once a year, they have a huge fire and it makes the mountain look like a volcano with lava running down it. It is a spectacular sight.
That’s all for now, Gareth.
Postscript
I wrote this story in September of 2014. I edited it in 2022. This story needed almost no editing.
Sadly, I have not returned to Beppu to explore the paths that I mentioned here. In fact, I had forgotten all about them until I read this story. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll go and explore them.
This story made me think, though, about paths never taken in my life. But maybe I shouldn’t think too much about that as it’ll take me into all kinds of existential thoughts and angst.
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Watercolor paintings of a beautiful cliff by a river
Today, we went on a family trip to Yabakei.
On the way, we saw a very interesting sight.
It was a road going straight into a rice field and then suddenly ending. Clearly the road was still under construction. But it was a very bizarre sight.
Yabakei, I should tell you, is famous for some tunnels. They were carved out by a monk called Zenkan. He did it to help the local people.
According to the story, the monk saw people walking along a precarious path on the cliff face in order to get from one village to another. Or something like that. And he decided to make the tunnel in order to make it easier for them. This was no small decision. It took him 30 years to make the tunnel.
Sadly, in more recent times the tunnels were made bigger for cars and in the process a unique historical feature was destroyed.
And now a new bridge is being built.
By the river they have covered the grass with concrete. On top of the concrete they have put some flat stones.
It wasn’t a good idea.
The flat stones were sometimes loose. There were also big gaps here and there which tripped you over if you were not careful.
And there were many steep steps and big drops where you had small ponds or the edge of the river.
It was very stressful walking around here with my toddler. I had to keep an eye on her all the time.
In my opinion, it would have been better to have had a natural grassy bank. This would have looked more beautiful and it would have been a lot safer.
I wonder why they couldn’t leave it alone. It must have been so beautiful before. Anyway, that’s my rant over with for now.
So, as usual, I spent quite a while walking around and climbing over no entry barriers to try and find a good scene for a painting.
Because I was with the family I had no time to paint so I took some photos. Later, at home, I did some paintings from those photos.
The cliff face here is amazing. And it was wonderful to paint such a beautiful natural feature. I am really happy with the results of the two paintings I did. But, of course, there is always room for improvement.
Below is the second painting I did.
“A pleasant stroll by the beautiful cliffs of Yabakei” We also happened to see a group of bikers who had a thing for revving their bikes without even going anywhere. Yes, true animal behavior on display here. I guess they are the Japanese version of Hell’s Angels.
Surprisingly, they were quite friendly or at least one of them. He made a peace sign when I took a photo of him.
The seats on the motor bikers were very high. I thought they looked silly. But I suppose on the positive side at least you’re not going to fall off.
Postscript
I originally wrote this story in 2014. I am now editing it in 2021.
My story about the monk called Zenkan was possibly wrong.
I learnt that there are many alternative stories about how the tunnel came about.
I think the main story is that in the 18th century a monk, called Zenkan, made the tunnel in order to make a safe route for people to go to a spectacular temple called Rakan-ji.
One version of this story says that he made the tunnel all by himself with a chisel and hammer. Another story is that he enlisted help.
And his motives are also subject to controversy. In one story, it said that his efforts were altruistic. In another, it is said that he charged people to use the tunnel and that this was the first toll road in Japan and that Zenkan became rich.
I like to think that he was an altruistic person.
That’s all,
Gareth.
