Painting The Antarctic Silence: A Tribute to Dr Edward Wilson

Marco
Jan 13
6 min read

Updated: 3 days ago

Dr. Edward Wilson (1872–1912), Cheltenham’s renowned Antarctic explorer, physician, and artist, captured the eerie silence of the polar landscape in his watercolours. One such piece—McMurdo Sound—recently appeared on Antiques Roadshow, earning a £6,000–£8,000 valuation. Inspired by this painting I decided to create my own version which I call “The Antarctic Silence”. Which I recreated in my Worcester studio, pretty close to Cheltenham , Wilson’s home town.

Here’s the process, techniques for painting snow and ice, and why Wilson’s restraint remains a masterclass.

How Do You Paint The Antarctic Silence?

So, how do you paint silence? Edward Wilson certainly could, and his paintings are a testament to his skill and technique. As I have indicated in previous blogs, we can all learn from recreating a master or an artist with a unique skill. It was time to see if I could emulate Dr. Wilson.

The Link to Cheltenham

Dr. Edward Adrian Wilson BA, MB (Cantab.) was born in Montpellier Parade, Cheltenham, on 23 July 1872. He was educated at Cheltenham College, Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge, and St. George’s Hospital, London. He became a highly regarded self-taught artist and field naturalist. Contracting tuberculosis from his mission work in the London slums, he nevertheless recovered to be appointed as the Assistant Surgeon and Vertebrate Zoologist to the British National Antarctic Expedition (1901-1904) aboard Discovery, under Commander Robert Falcon Scott. Upon return, he was appointed Field Observer to the Grouse Disease Inquiry and illustrated wildlife books. In 1910, he returned to the Antarctic with Captain Scott aboard Terra Nova as Chief of the Scientific Staff. Tragically, he died with his comrades on the return from the South Pole in 1912.

Murdoc Sound by Edward Wilson — McMurdo Sound Original Watercolour by Edward Wilson as featured on Antiques Roadshow.

Antiques Roadshow £6000 Estimate

Some paintings whisper rather than shout. They invite you to stop and admire. That was very much the case with Edward Wilson’s original watercolour. Quiet, restrained, and beautifully economical, it captured a frozen coastal landscape with a sense of space that felt both physical and emotional. What shocked those watching, including myself, was the valuation placed on this small but significant watercolour, between £6000 to £8000.

The Process of Creation

This blog explores the process and techniques I used and shows my own rendition of Wilson’s watercolour. This is a reasonably close personal interpretation inspired by his work. I will discuss how the atmosphere was built, the challenges of painting snow and ice, and what it means to respond creatively to a picture already rich with history.

Encountering the Original

Edward Wilson’s original is a masterclass in understatement. The composition is sparse: a low horizon, distant mountains dissolving into cloud, and a sweep of frozen shoreline leading the eye gently into the scene. The colour palette is limited—cool blues, soft greys, and muted violets—but the painting feels expansive rather than empty.

It captured my imagination straight away. I just had to paint it. This was both an exercise in technical skill improvement and learning from one of Cheltenham’s famous sons. Living in Worcester, where my art studio is based, this was just too tempting to pass by.

What makes Wilson’s art so compelling is not detail, but restraint. Large areas of untouched paper act as snow, ice, and sky, allowing light to do much of the work. It’s a reminder that, in watercolour, what you leave out can be just as important as what you put in. Drawn by eye from a very quick sketch, the starting point had to be the sky.

Image shows the original sketch lines to the right and the first layers — “Antarctic Silence” in development

Marco’s Approach: Responding, Not Replicating

Rather than attempting a direct copy, I approached the painting as a response to Wilson’s image. The aim was to absorb the mood and structure of the original while allowing personal mark-making and decision-making to shape the final result. Clearly, I had the advantage of modern pigments and a warm studio. How Wilson achieved what he did in a freezing tent, having made the initial pencil sketch, is truly remarkable.

So, the first stage was a very light pencil drawing, barely more than a suggestion. The horizon line, the distant mountain range, and the curve of the icy foreground were mapped in, but details were intentionally left vague. This looseness was essential; over-defining early on would risk stiffening the painting before the washes even began.

The Sky Sets the Emotion

The sky sets the emotional tone of the piece. Knowing that I wanted to use a wet-on-wet wash, I decided to wet the back of the paper and place it on a glass backing sheet. I have learned from experience that this technique helps to keep the paper damp for longer. It also allows the paper to swell freely, reducing paper waves, and is very effective in hot conditions where the washes can dry quickly.

Pro Tip: When fully swollen, I then tape two sides so that as the paper dries, it tightens, ready for the final detailing. Use self-adhesive framing tape when doing this. Masking tape just doesn’t have enough tack. Also, make sure that the glass is perfectly dry around the outside of the paper to ensure good adhesion.

I used diluted blues and soft greys, allowing pigments to drift and merge naturally, following Wilson’s technique. The goal wasn’t to paint clouds but to suggest them—letting gravity, water, and timing do much of the work. The glass plate was tilted slightly.

Pro Tip: If you can find one, use a glass shelf from an old fridge. This is tempered glass and toughened, which makes its use much safer and less likely to break.

Subtle shifts in pigment temperature were key. Cooler blues receded, while slightly warmer grey-violets added depth and variation. The paper texture played an important role here, catching pigment in unpredictable ways that enhanced the sense of moving air. I also used the brush swipe technique to create white areas within the wash as applied.

Close up of the Swipe technique employed by Marco to create blank paper cavities — Close up of the swipe technique used to create white areas

Mountains and Distance

Close up of distant mountains used by Marko — Distant Hills painted with soft pigment colours using ultra marine and rose/red pigments

For the distant mountains, I worked with slightly stronger pigment but softened the edges immediately. Distance in watercolour is often about losing clarity; hard edges become soft, contrast is reduced, and colour is cooled. Note how parts of the hills have been faded to nothing, yet other elements give clarity to the mountain peaks. This close-up screenshot, when seen in the original, gives depth.

By keeping the tonal range narrow, the mountains sit quietly against the sky rather than dominating it. They act as an anchor, giving scale to the vast frozen expanse below.

The Frozen Foreground

Snow and ice are deceptively difficult subjects. Paint them too much, and they lose their light; paint them too little, and they become flat. I used a combination of negative painting and delicate linear marks to suggest cracks, ridges, and layers in the ice, along with side brush swipes to maintain certain white paper cavities.

Cool blues were dropped into damp areas, then lifted back with a brush or tissue to reclaim highlights. This push and pull—adding and removing pigment—is central to achieving believable snow in watercolour.

Knowing When to Stop

Perhaps the hardest part of the process was deciding when the painting was finished. Inspired by Wilson’s economy of means, I resisted the urge to refine every area. Some pencil lines remain visible, and some washes are uneven. Rather than flaws, these elements give the painting honesty and immediacy.

Watercolour rewards confidence and punishes overworking. Stepping away at the right moment preserved the sense of stillness that first drew me to the original image.

A Conversation Across Time

While my version is a close replica of Edward Wilson’s painting, it is more of a conversation with it. It acknowledges the original’s quiet power while exploring how the same landscape can be reinterpreted through another hand, another moment, another sensibility.

Seen in this way, the painting becomes more than an exercise—it’s a reminder of why artists study the work of others. Not to imitate, but to learn how simplicity, restraint, and sensitivity can transform a sheet of paper into a place you can almost step into.

So here it is; I hope you feel I have managed to produce an adequate representation as a tribute to Dr. Edward Wilson.