…my favorite Grimshaw: Golden Light.
I guess you could call Grimshaw a Post-Pre-Raphaelite, since he was influenced by them but came later. His landscapes always seem to be hiding something, as though an epiphany is waiting if you just stare long enough. They are, for lack of a better word, haunted. He’s one of those rare artists who conveys the numinous in landscapes.
Magnificent is the Autumn of our father-land! By what a subtle alchemy the green leaves are transmuted into gold, as if molten by the fiery blaze of the hot sun! A magic covering spreads over the whole forest, and brightens into more gorgeous hues. The tree-tops seem bathed with the gold and crimson of an Italian sunset. Here and there a shade of green, — here and there a tinge of purple, — and a stain of scarlet so deep and rich, that the most cunning artifice of man is pale beside it. A thousand delicate shades melt into each other. They blend fantastically into one deep mass. They spread over the forest, like a tapestry woven with a thousand hues.
Magnificent Autumn! He comes not like a pilgrim, clad in russet weeds. He comes not like a hermit, clad in gray. But he comes like a warrior, with the stain of blood upon his brazen mail. His crimson scarf is rent. His scarlet banner drips with gore. His step is like a flail upon the threshing floor.