Yorkshire – Tim O'Hare

Trees #art

When I started painting in April 2024 I concentrated mostly on painting buildings or landscapes in which any significant living elements such as trees, animals or people were sufficiently distant that I didn’t have to worry too much about their details. After a while, as I discovered my natural style and approach to painting and gained a bit more confidence in my ability, I began to try putting more detail into my work. In the case of trees, I found that if I slowed myself down, and really paid attention to what I was doing, the results of my efforts were not at all bad. (Sadly, whilst I have had some success more recently painting birds and animals, the same still cannot be said about my horrific attempts at incorporating people into my artworks…)

The set of twelve pictures above, a set that I refer to as my Trees series, were painted between June and November 2025, and ended up being the fifth series of miniature watercolour paintings that I produced. Most of the these series were been produced over a much shorter period of time, typically no more than 2-3 weeks, but with these tree pictures I didn’t set out to generate a full set of twelve pictures, they just emerged gradually, in between all of my other painting efforts. Each picture is a 9cm square, a little larger than most of my miniature series paintings (which are typically ~5cm square), and for this reason, I’ve been able to print larger 16cm versions from the originals, that look really smart in a frame, without suffering from resolution issues.

In most cases, I painted these trees from photographs that I had taken at some point, and so I know (roughly) where most of the trees are. However, there are a few that were based on photos from internet searches, and unfortunately I’ve lost track of the details of those ones – keeping track of these kinds of details is something that I still need to get better at. Working from top-left, across and down the grid of twelve pictures, the pictures show:

a large tree on the main ridge of the Quantock Hills, above Crowcombe in Somerset, with huge roots that formed a window to frame the view beyond
twisted branches and autumn leaves (location unknown)
a lone conifer on the southwestern edge of Dartmoor, somewhere on Harrower Common near Yelverton, Devon
a view looking back along the cycle path between Clearbrook and Yelverton
a lone tree of a type that I like to refer to as a ‘symmetree’ in a slight hollow, again on the main ridge of the Quantock Hills above Crowcombe
my favourite row of beech trees below Peek Hill next to the main road from Yelverton to Princetown, Dartmoor
beech tree trunks near Grassington in Wharfedale, Yorkshire
a typically-windswept tree on Dartmoor
a muddy track through some conifer woodland (location unknown)
a lone holly tree on Roborough Down
a view through a group of pine trees, across the Yealm Estuary from the coast path between Wembury and Warren Point in South Devon
a spectacular autumnal, orange-leafed tree in the gardens of Cotehele House (or it might be in the Lost Gardens of Heligan)

Although they are quite simple, some of these tree pictures – the Peek Hill beech trees, the Yorkshire beech tree trunks, and the pine trees near Warren Point – are amongst my personal favourites of all of the pictures I have painted so far. I’ve listed prints of these pictures (composite prints of all twelve and a smaller square version with nine pictures) and greetings cards featuring individual pictures for sale on Facebook Marketplace and in my Etsy shop, but perhaps unsurprisingly, given the chances that anyone putting ‘tree painting’ into their internet search engine will be directed to my tree paintings rather than any of the hundreds if not thousands of alternatives available, I’ve not had any sales so far. But a family friend was so taken with these pictures that she bought a set of four framed prints of her favourite individual trees as a present for a friend and then came back and bought another set for her nephew! It’s nice to know that there is at least one other person out there who also likes these pictures!

An Encounter on Ilkley Moor #poem

It was the morning of the fourth day of July, twenty twenty-three,
and I was running, alone, on Ilkley Moor.
I could not take the path that I had planned,
for it was stolen from me by the grasp of ferns,
and so, instead, I found another way to travel west –
my route, like life, a path of unexpected turns.

As I drew level with a group of trees, planted in my mental map,
I turned to head, almost a scramble, up the rock-strewn slope,
until with the ground flattening all around, I came to a stone wall
and followed a well-worn path that lay in its shadow,
east, towards the radio mast.
From there I knew my way,
down the track they call the Keighley Road,
with a view across the valley over Ilkley town
that, like the passing of a life, would slip away too fast.

As I began my descent, his profile came into view,
to my right, just off the track,
though still some distance well ahead –
a small, dark man, sitting, gazing directly across my path,
chin resting on hands,
elbows propped on knees,
his head straining forwards
as if to peer through time to seek some other space.
He remained there as I closed, his features sharpening in my sight,
and I was struck how, like so much else in life,
his presence was incongruous.
For this did not seem to be his place.

I expected him to move as I approached, if only to shift his pose,
but he sat looking west across the track, across the moor – still.
And as my eyes searched for detail in his form
I saw that he was too small, about two-thirds the size of a man,
and so dark, yet without colour.

My brain was screaming at me: ‘Something is not right here’,
and I felt a heavy weight in the air around me.
I continued on,
towards the point beside the grey stone on which he sat.
My heart was beating fast, preparing to meet another life,
but on my arrival there was no-one there.

(c) Tim O’Hare, August 2023

AN ENCOUNTER ON ILKLEY MOOR: This poem tells the true story of an encounter that I had on a morning run while staying on Ilkley Moor for a week. There was a rock on the verge by the track that I ran along as I made my descent to our holiday let. As I came down the track towards it, I saw the figure of a small, dark man sitting there, just as I describe in the poem, and I instinctively felt that I was not able to recognise all that lay before me. Even now, many months later, I cannot let go of the fact that he was there and that, just for a few moments, either he or I was not in the right place.

King Heron #poem

I spied you threading your way up the narrow ghyll,
just down there where the waters tumble over rocks
on their long route down to the sea.

I watched you picking your way along the stoney path,
stopping to rest awhile under the shade of that old,
wizened tree.

I sensed that with each step of climb, up, up, onto the high moor,
your mind opened like the land,
and all of your thoughts broke free.

I was amused to observe you pause now and then,
looking about to take in the sights,
knowing that you had not yet seen me.

You think this land belongs to you,
your thoughts confirmed by the remnant workings
and heaps of spoil
the miners left behind.

You see evidence all around,
backed up by the words on the pages of your guide,
that this remote corner of the world
is here for humankind.

You sense that there are creatures here
and rue the fact that they hide from view,
wishing they’d show themselves,
so that you can tick them off the list you carry in your mind.

You imagine how it must have been to dig into this land,
with the dust, the noise, and the aching limbs,
to bring out the ore enriched
with the heaviest metal one can find.

And then, at last,
you catch sight of me
as I stand waiting patiently beside the stream.
I thought you’d never notice, so deeply did you dream.
You stop, and,
stretching out one arm,
guide your companion’s sight.
You speak in hushed voices, moving slowly so as not to create fright.

I shift my weight a little,
and turn my head to best present myself to you.
For there have been many others
who have stopped to see this profile view.
And trust me,
I know what to do.

Stick-like legs beneath my plump grey body,
surprisingly large when seen close by.
Arching neck, dagger bill,
the crown of feathers that adorns my head.
All of this can make you sigh.
And, of course,
I know only too well,
that what you really want is to see me fly.

So, I rouse myself fully, unfurl my mighty wings
and with three swift beats I am up and away,
hammering the air as I move along the stream, until,
tantalisingly out of sight,
I find another spot to stay.

Twice more I lead you on our little dance.
I fly upstream
and you advance.

You are thinking that there must be only meagre pickings
in such a small and insignificant stream as this,
and that to sustain so large a body
I must have to spend an age to find a useful meal from tiny fish,
and that to live here as I do, must be so hard and pose a lot of risk.
But there are things that you don’t realise, and sights that you have missed.

This is the miners’ land no more.

And you are only passing through.

And things are not exactly as they seem.

For the land you see around you,
all the hills, the rocks, the fields, the walls,
and each and every one of the countless little streams,
has a mighty ruler who has chosen to be at its helm.

And you, my passing admirer?

You are welcome in my realm.

(c) Tim O’Hare, July 2023

About this poem: This poem was inspired by the sights experienced and thoughts that dropped into my head during a wonderful walk while on our summer holiday in Ilkley, Yorkshire. The route took us along the valley of the River Wharfe and then north for lunch at The Old School Tearoom [highly recommended] in the tiny village of Hebden. From there, we slowly made our way up Hebden Ghyll, a narrow valley that was once the location for extensive lead-mining activities. As the terrain opened up to the expansive higher moorland, I saw a heron standing at the side of the small stream than ran down the ghyll. We stood and watched it for a few moments, and I commented that with the stream being so narrow it must offer slim pickings, and that it must be hard for such a large bird to sustain itself there. And then, of course, the heron did what herons always do…