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?
Some girls look cute, sexy or that look of longing when they want you. But Chump...this is her longing face. But its not what you think underneath. She just wants your fruit punch dude. Or just use your soul to summon the dark one.
Don't mistake his kindness for weakness. But I guess that's what happens when your not vampire born and have to claw your way to your title. I have two more vampires that will be introduce sometime soon, and the two of them will make Sebastian life a living hell.
Self explanatory. It's a woman reading a book on a chaise. Also stay tuned for me attempting to keep up with Inktober prompts this October, the first time I'll participate, because I never had the time before. I still don't have the time... but I couldn't wait any longer so here I go.
Winter strikes Stoke Newington and the scarves come out along Church Street. Pops of colour and man's best friend help get us through the most trying of seasons
Some days the demons inside take control and now your a walking meat bag with no say. Some could say zombie, mind control, or the darkness laughs as it pulls your strings. But you all think your in control and have it figured out. But when you wake, it will be hellish and a nightmare. But the question is...Will you be able to handle it? Or will you fall back to sleep?
This is how my brain works when I imagine. To see more artworks, follow my Instagram account the.rainmaker_
Link : https://www.instagram.com/the.rainmaker_/
Did some more gesture drawings today,this might be my last day of doing them at least for a couple of days I want to do more of the features of the body, like hands and feet and definitely get some more practice into doing eyes.
