Sir George Clausen
The Gleaners Returning
circa 1908
A fresh shower of sunlight filtered through a canvas of branches. The women’s feet fall down wearily on the sandy path, step by step. They breathe deeply: they inhale the goodness of the air and the birdsong floating with it, each weighed down by a light evening heat. The soft rustles and swishes of their skirts add an extra melody to that which already surrounds them; and though tired, they dance with each footstep and gesture to the sound of the trees and the gossiping insects.
They are alive from tip to tip. Their skin is moist with the cooling sweat of a day’s worth of bending and heaving, their backs now tingling and sore. Strands of hair whip their cheeks as gently as their shadows drown the light, and their fingers are red and worn, but tough. Notice how one thing imitates another - how the trunks swoon as the dresses sway; how the leaves shimmer as the baskets of grain shudder; and how the air swims about lazily as the women smile and sigh, however slightly, with a satisfaction only known to those who work hard and honestly. This is a picture of celebration. Into a rectangular frame of time it paints the stories of three nameless women, perhaps a mother and her daughters, who are shown sharing the rewards after long hours of physical labour. Unburdened by expensive things and endless leisures these people are those who understand best the meaning of freedom, even if they feel it for only a short while, because of the value they place in the leisure of simplicity. They are returning from fields of monotonous gleaning - returning to the roots of the little things that keep them alive and aware of where true happiness may be found.
They are alive from tip to tip. Their skin is moist with the cooling sweat of a day’s worth of bending and heaving, their backs now tingling and sore. Strands of hair whip their cheeks as gently as their shadows drown the light, and their fingers are red and worn, but tough. Notice how one thing imitates another - how the trunks swoon as the dresses sway; how the leaves shimmer as the baskets of grain shudder; and how the air swims about lazily as the women smile and sigh, however slightly, with a satisfaction only known to those who work hard and honestly. This is a picture of celebration. Into a rectangular frame of time it paints the stories of three nameless women, perhaps a mother and her daughters, who are shown sharing the rewards after long hours of physical labour. Unburdened by expensive things and endless leisures these people are those who understand best the meaning of freedom, even if they feel it for only a short while, because of the value they place in the leisure of simplicity. They are returning from fields of monotonous gleaning - returning to the roots of the little things that keep them alive and aware of where true happiness may be found.
