Posted: 17th May 2021
Albert Julius OLSSON
b.1864 – d.1942
Moonlight, Cornish Coast c.1906
Oil on Canvas
Albert Julius Olsson was a maritime artist and yachtsman who cruised the British coast lines. The lashing waves and jagged rocks were a familiar sight for Olsson as he regularly sailed the sea routes around the Scilly Isles to the Isle of Wight.
Olsson had no formal training but was an important figure in the St Ives School of artists.
Similar to Monet, Olsson studied the transcendent effects of light throughout the day. Both artists use light as sensation within their compositions.
Moonlight is enchanting and lures you into the luminescence of the rolling waves, sea air and dark blue tones.
Take 5 minutes out of your day for some relaxation, using some of our Ferens collection artworks as inspiration. Created with Kindmind, this mindfulness track focuses on the painting, Moonlight, Cornish Coast by Albert Julius Olsson.
Inspired by Moonlight, Cornish Coast, young people at The Warren Youth Project in Hull have produced new creative writings and spoken word.
Formation of the Coast (Based on Moonlight, Cornish Coast, c.1906)
What things have been seen, what tales could be told
watched over by the sediment, the rocks and coast;
Time travels on,
people come and go,
the coast itself changes
Human behaviour often stays the same
as the coast keeps its secrets;
But, oh, if you know where to look,
the signs have always been there.
Waves wash onto shore,
kings and queens rise and fall;
Old activities by this coast
have all but fallen to legend.
With the ebb and flow of time,
coastal formation is almost complete;
Those secrets and stories out of time
will forever lay on the sea bed underneath.
By Kelly Cartwright
Short story inspired by Moonlight, Cornish Coast c.1906:
It is the sailor’s last stop, and Mother waits for me there. She is of the same Cornish rock that stands fast against the sea, staring out to its end, hoping to find its sunken meaning. I have heard widows cry out to the sea depths as if it were heaven. Mother does not cry. She stands through morning into crueler night, salt stinging air and cheeks; the waves roll rougher in the dark, but sinking below the surface, I see heaven’s purity, its uncharteredness, its sleeping embrace. Mother senses I am close. She is of the same rock that stands fast against the sea, but grief crashes crueler at night. Widows cannot search in heaven, and some sons sink. Mother waits. She waits for each sunrise, where gentler waves break against the brighter day, and she waits for me to wake from the waves.
By Sarah Magaharan