Some dodgy scans of some decent sketchbook pages from the last couple of weeks. All in biro, which I like very much. My illustration tutor in uni was so anti-biro, I have no idea why….. I am currently thinking about moving to London. And I wish I could make my mind up. I think I may just have to do it! Apart for that massive, life-changing decision, not much exciting happening. I have wasted many days theoretical London house-hunting on rightmove.com, and I have a big pile of unfinished textile work, but all I want to do is draw and paint. Almost finished a watercolour commission I’m working on. I want to spend all my time making art and absolutely no time with admin and applications and scanning and resizing and photographing and emailing and blah blah blah.
But it was ridiculously sunny today and I love the sun. More than you do. And I have tomorrow off work and am going to the beach with my little sisters and my picnic basket and I shall swim in the sea. I love the sea more than the sun. It’ll fix everything. Nothing matters.
“For your touch there are no words, I fly with high hopes and the birds, and I know there’s nothing better ‘cos I’m smiling.”
Or something of that ilk. I’m not as grumpy as I sound, promise.
I adored life drawing in university, and after a year or two of absolutely none of it, I thought it about bloody time that I did some again. So I’ve been to a couple of sessions with the Cardiff Life Model Collective, and oh I am enjoying it so much! And so nice to not have a tutor spying over you shoulder…. I am quite sure that there is nothing more interesting to draw than another human being. Screw you still lifes and landscapes! The following drawings are mostly A3 in size, all done with black fine liners, and maybe a bit of biro. Have decided I do not like drawing with pencils at all. (Am building up the courage to take a bottle of ink and some pens and brushes, but I fear I may make a horrible mess….) Poses range from 3 to 20 minutes.
In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.
Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.
A favourite poem that keeps coming back to me. Dylan Thomas is wonderful. Sweetdreams x