Moving like the Hare

The rush, the retreat.

I can’t remember the last time I saw a hare. It was before we moved to this place. I encountered them fleetingly and infrequently on the hills above Clyro. Once, only once I saw them boxing, a display as ridiculous as it is fascinating for a creature so elegant. That day was special because the two fighting creatures had attracted a small flock of red kites which circled and swooped over them, not fast enough to make a kill but hoping for a casualty to scavenge.

This week I’ve been thinking a lot about hares. I’ve done a couple of new paintings of them, having never attempted the subject before. Hares in rural art are ubiquitous. In the galleries in my area they’re everywhere, hung alongside the robins and owls. I’m attempting to place work in galleries now and I don’t want to approach a curator for them to exclaim “How lovely, another hare.” But my work is all about movement and flow, and nothing moves, nothing flows like a hare.

I’ve never been close to one, not even remotely. They’…