A walk before the first mark

Every painting in the studio starts with the same forty-minute walk: down the lane, along the edge of the north field, over the stile and back by the creek. I have walked it hundreds of times. That is the point.

When a route is completely familiar you stop looking for the landmarks and start noticing what has changed: a fence post leaning further than last week, the first yellow in the birches, a patch of standing water that was not there before the rain.

I rarely draw on these walks. I carry a sketchbook but it mostly stays in my pocket. The walk is for looking, and for arriving in the studio with something specific to paint rather than a general wish to make a picture.

The walk is for looking, and for arriving in the studio with something specific to paint.

On the days I skip it, the work is noticeably worse. Not technically, but in its attention. It is the difference between painting a field and painting this field, this morning.