ST. AGNES’ Eve…Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
The hare limp’d trembling through the frozen grass,
And silent was the flock in woolly fold …extract John Keats
All through this work I was reciting St Agnes Eve in my head..I had to give the painting the same title…it’s bleak, it’s cold, it’s Keats, but it’s also Canada…Toronto, Ontario..
Watercolour on Arches Not Paper…