Sundown, Caswell Bay 2024

Pale autumn light cools the scene at Caswell to a restrained duet of rose‑sand and vapour‑blue. A narrow stream snakes to the sea through scattered basalt, its silvery surface guiding the eye toward two small figures and their dog, then out to the low sun that hovers, disc‑perfect, on the horizon. The right‑hand cliff is rendered in stacked planes of muted claret, its dark tree‑mass tapering like an ink wash; above, cloud fragments sit lightly on a broad, tonally consistent sky. 

The composition recalls Kawase Hasui’s coastal prints—placid water, long view, a single human incident held in a wide margin of quiet space—yet it departs from nostalgia by foregrounding the anatomy of the beach itself: channel, boulders, tide‑line. Autumn’s slanted light softens the contrasts but sharpens the geometry, so that stream, sun and cloud seem cut from the same block. What results is neither postcard nor plein‑air record but a rhythmic study of recession, where Gower’s familiar bay is distilled into colour intervals and the slow, tidal logic of form.