Another Star Wars fan art piece of my all time fav character from Star Wars. Which is telling how impactful his performance was considering he had very little screen time. we are talking just minutes in each film.
I had an idea for a story and she was a character. But *shrugs* ADHD got me thinking................................................................................................................
White and sanguine conte pencils on toned paper. These ruins captured my drawing itch with the quality of the light filtering brilliantly through the tangled growth outside, and the open shade within. At a metaphorical level, the image is about the sense of having a laborious path set in stone for me by custom, convention, and culture, while way is wide open to the chaotic fertility of nature, should I choose to follow my own feet and heart.
A detailed pen-and-ink exploration of a modified auto-rickshaw turned into a mobile coffee stall. This design captures the charm of urban travel and the global love for street food culture, rendered in a raw, sketchbook style.
(2B pencil on 180mm x 136mm paper) "They're not flag-waving wannabes, or finger-pointing-blamemongers. They're true British Heroes! They were born with spines of steel, have spunk by the bucketload, and their upper-lips aren't just stiff, they're rock-solid! They're the type who'll kick those mad-dogs aside and proudly march, bare-arsed, into the midday sun!"
I honestly don't like using color tones like this. I actually really enjoy the black and white contrast. I have always loved black and white images, cartoons and movies. But I try.
An article/rant/annotation to an illustration. A #Hackney bar and its flies.
This picture is not as sad and blue as it might at first seem, I promise.
It is early in the week and the pub becomes the territory of the most outspoken drinkers. Raised somewhere between Churchill and Harold MacMillan, a night such as this is time for them to spin out a yarn of nostalgic fantasy. Encouraged by the lack of a crowd and with space to fill, statements start to fly.
In the opening rounds the barman athletically hits back with factual blocks and reality-check haymakers; statistics and personal experiences are given. Two histories cross examined, one where 1982 means Thatcher and the Falklands, the other renders Reagan and the AIDS crisis. Stoicism and national pride vs mental health and realism.
In the latter rounds the barman is fatigued, swaying on the backbar, glasses begin to stack up as form begins to drop. The older men seem stronger than ever.
The barflies come in close now, they scrutinise his generations work ethic and make wild political comments on poverty, immigrants and the minimum wage.
The barman is close to sheer bloody despair, he maintains his defence and focuses on breathing while maintaining his professional stance.
But at the end of the night the barman knows HE will ring that bell, they will politely leave and they will return again in a week and maybe, just maybe there will be a change, common ground or maybe at least polite silence.
But what these interactions have given despite the salt in the eye is community and an exchange between generations, culture and class of those participating. No home is ever straight forward, no relative without their good and bad traits and in a world where we often slide into echo chambers online or in our physical environments, the pub is still a place where society is family, face to face, pint to pint. Or maybe it's just a room with alcohol on tap?
