Snow in Flanders

That smudge of amber low on the horizon is the only warmth in the whole picture. Everything else is snow, bare branches and a sky the colour of wet slate, pressing down so heavily that it almost seems to be made of the same stuff as the ground. Valerius De Saedeleer painted the Flemish countryside in winter over and over, and he had a particular way of handling trees: each twig is picked out in fine dark lines against the pale field, more like embroidery than brushwork. Look at the far middle distance and you will find a village with a church tower, tiny and half swallowed by mist, plus a few red-roofed farm buildings that are the only spots of real colour anywhere.

De Saedeleer (1867 to 1941) was part of the artists' community at Sint-Martens-Latem, near Ghent, and he made no secret of his debt to Pieter Bruegel the Elder, whose snowy hunters he admired enormously. He also ran a weaving workshop with his wife, designing carpets and tapestries, which helps explain why his landscapes feel flattened and patterned, built from shapes rather than deep space. When the First World War broke out he fled to Wales with his family and spent several years painting the hills around Aberystwyth, then returned to Flanders and to these snow scenes. They were popular in his lifetime and can look a little repetitive when you see many together, but this one holds its nerve: the dying light, the cold ground, and not a single person in sight.