The Sadness of Traquair House

I started a painting a couple of weeks ago, just a small A4 one, on a card board. I decided to paint Traquair House in the Borders of Scotland. But as I painted, as my brush added whiteness to the walls and glorious hues of green to the gardens, shadows darkened in my soul and a clawing sadness took hold. I often notice this when I paint and there are some places that I cannot depict, Luxembourg being one of them, having spend sad childhood years there. I began to think of my last visit to this Baronial home, when dad was still there and the sun was shining and the hills behind radiated with purple. We stayed in Peebles and took a taxi because we could not drive anymore. For many years we had, as a family of sorts, visited here. As a child it was a place of summer, of arguments and perhaps tension, of bus tours with granny, and corny recounts of Scottish history at its most hammy. I painted and my sadness ached. I thought of the teashop and how we sat and shared a cake, waiting for the taxi. This work and many others is for sale. Check out my gallery at and you can order cards and prints at


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