Once the curve flattens and we can all go about our usual businesses without potentially killing one another, let’s not forget all the good habits and so on we’ve picked up from staying the feck at home! Some sort of a summer will come, rest assured.
A fairly special one for me this week, as today’s post is inspired by what would have been the time of Beltane celebrations. As it is, we celebrated at home in our own little ways, and in the case of myself indulging in my usual habits! Drinking and of course drawing, the usual stuff...
This is my second version of this drawing. If anyone has an opinion on which version they like better, I would love to hear it. (Sorry, you have to go back several pages of my uploads to see it.)
hello☺️✨ one day my mum and i drove around and we found a place with some old cars, busses and caravans. absolutly fell in love with them. we took some photos there and when i came home, i really wanted to draw them. so, i started drawing and it was so much fun. this drawing was inspired of one of those lovely cars we saw then. wish you a wonderful day!
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?