Homesick for England: Landscapes for Those Who Recognise the Longing

Art inspired by the English countryside for those who somehow left part of themselves there.

This oil painting is part of my spring/summer collection. It is available as original and as an art print.

I was thirteen when I first set foot in England, and after three weeks I cried when I had to go back home. From that day on I kept returning, studied English, and would have stayed for good if I only could have.

But life got in the way, as it so inconveniently does. I only made it back twice during the last fifteen years. And then Brexit happened, which rather put paid to my quiet dream of one day living there – even just part-time. The longing never left, though.

How Can One Miss the Hedgerows and Footpaths?

Let me be specific about what I mean by longing.

It’s the way an English lane closes in on both sides with hedgerows so overgrown they nearly touch overhead, and you walk through it feeling like you've stepped into a painting. The hedgerows are never entirely quiet – there's always something rustling about inside them.

This lane feels as if you pass right through the hedgerow.

It's the footpaths. The fact that you can walk across someone's field because people decided centuries ago that walkers had rights too. That there are maps of paths through farmland and woodland and along riverbanks, and people actually use them - in their waterproofs, with their dogs, on a Sunday morning - as if this were the most normal and sensible thing in the world. Which seems perfectly reasonable to me.

It’s the old graveyard behind a village church that's been standing there for ever. The evenings in a pub that looks like it hasn't changed in centuries.

And the gardens. Honestly, the gardens! Roses climbing over old gates. Sweet peas grown up a bit of string. Foxgloves with their enchanting flower heads that seem to have come straight out of a fairy tale. Everything slightly wild, slightly unplanned, and somehow more beautiful for it.

The Duck Committee and Other Essentials

And it's the pace. Or the idea of the pace - I'm aware that real life in England involves commutes and grey mornings like everywhere else. But there's something in the cultural imagination of it, the way the countryside insists on itself. The village pond, the duck committee, the allotment, the tea ritual that nobody needs to explain. The sense that small, quiet pleasures are not just acceptable but actively worth protecting.

Mind you, I’m not talking about politics, economics, or social systems. I’m well aware that Great Britain is facing major challenges right now, just like most countries around the world. But for me, the British landscape is a form of escapism.

In Defence of Rolling Countryside

I am Austrian. I live surrounded by mountains that tourists travel thousands of miles to see, and which are genuinely spectacular. And yet, somewhere in the back of my mind, there’s still a little voice saying: yes, but I just love bluebell woods. I love the meadows carpeted in wild daffodils, and the rolling British pastures framed by ancient hedgerows, drystone walls, sheep, and mighty oaks.

Don’t these foxgloves peeping out of a hedge look like something straight out of a fairy tale?

At some point, I stopped trying to reason with it and simply started painting.

The next painting is on the easel and will soon be available as original and as art print.

Think stone cottages with picturesque gardens, woodland creatures, and hedgerows -particularly hedgerows. I love them for the sheer abundance of life they hold, with so many species tucked away in their branches. They play a vital role in my artwork: their deep ecological importance runs through my paintings, whilst they also provide the perfect sense of perspective on my canvas. And I realised that this is what my British countryside paintings had become: a way of returning, however briefly, to the landscapes I never quite stopped missing.

The rolling hills of England (Dorset, Jurassic Coast).

The Fine Art of Doing Very Little

Because here’s the thing about that longing: it’s not actually about a postcode. It’s about England, yes, but mostly it’s about a refusal to rush. It’s the stubborn desire for a life that moves a fraction slower - one where you actually stop to look at a rose bush coming into bloom, rather than just checking it off some mental list of things to admire. A walk in the afternoon shouldn't be about hitting a step count or clearing your head for another Zoom call. It’s just a walk. Cold air, damp boots, nothing to prove.

Also on the blog:
Why Eclectic Cottage Style Takes the Pressure Off.

The reality is most of us are trapped in the modern scramble. Our days are loud, fast, and increasingly organised around screens, schedules, and efficiency. So, we look for loopholes. We put the kettle on when it starts raining at three in the afternoon, buy a bunch of flowers for no earthly reason, or hang a print above the desk - a quiet little anchor that reminds us of who we actually are when we aren’t busy being productive.

A Wholly Unnecessary but Rather Nice Thing

If you've read this far, there's a fair chance you know this feeling. Maybe England is your thing, too, or maybe it's a different place, a different version of the dream. But that ache for something quieter and more beautiful – that, I recognise.

Which is why I made something for my newsletter subscribers: a set of printable bunting flags. Cut them out, string them up, and hang them in the garden for an afternoon with friends, or just above the kitchen window on a grey Tuesday, because why not.

Paper bunting in trendy colours to print and cut out.

The point isn't the bunting, really. It's the excuse it gives you: to sit down quietly with scissors and paper, and then to set the table properly, invite someone over, make a corner of a room or your garden feel really cosy. Small things. Deliberate things.

If this is your kind of thing, there's more where that came from. Each month I send my subscribers something made with the same spirit in mind – a small art print, a seasonal something, or whatever I've been working on. People who think along similar lines and find meaning in the quieter end of life. You're welcome to join us.

Sign up for the newsletter here.

Download the flags, print them out, and put the kettle on.

Consider it a small act of solidarity. From one hopeless case to another.

P.S. I've been painting. Oil on panel, hedgerows and cottage gardens, the usual obsessions. More on that soon.