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?
I had to re-upload her the last one was so UN-proportional I couldn't stand it. But I know I need to work on hands and fingers. It's an alien that lives in a doll like body. It can manipulate the doll, moving fingers, arms and eyes. So nothing like cutting open your doll just to find an alien creature living inside. No, my aliens will not have any gender. Why don't we reproduce like worms, get split into two.
I had an idea for a story and she was a character. But *shrugs* ADHD got me thinking................................................................................................................
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_/
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
When I had originally created Chump she was born from a part of me that was fed up living in the dark. Chump was created from the oppressed part of me that wanted joy. But I felt like a creature of the dark that wasn't allowed to have such things. My art is not just some fun form geometry with colors, its my vent.
