When the cold clear rains rushed from the clouds
And froze before they could fall to the frosty earth.
Near slain by the sleet he sleeps in his irons
More nights than enough, among naked rocks,
Where clattering from the crest the cold stream ran
And hung in hard icicles high overhead.
Thus in peril and pain and predicaments dire
He rides across country till Christmas Eve,
And at that holy tide
He prays with all his might
That Mary may be his guide
Till a dwelling comes in sight."
From: Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Part 2 (translation by Marie Borroff, 1967)
I'm trying. But clearly I still have a loooong way to go. Why is colour such a difficult matter to me? Painting this was so very hard. And in my head the colours looked better :/.