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 was supposed to be doing homework yesterday. I did not. Instead I drew fan art of random thought bunnies me and my friend wandered through. So...enjoy. Floofs cuddling and being grumpy. Medium: Procreate on iPad. Time: I have no idea, wasn't paying attention.
Our Dining Room is my favorite room in the house. Every family meal we eat at home happens there - breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Meal times are our sacred family time to share our day, our thoughts, our struggles, our successes, etc. We do have a breakfast area. But aside from homework, projects, or reading the newspaper, the breakfast area doesn't get much use unless needed for overflow from the dining room when we have visitors.
India ink on tissue paper. I had never used ink on this kind of paper before; I really liked the results! There are some folds and wrinkles on the paper that give the pattern some interesting details. The paper is also super absorbing, which plays nicely with the quantities of ink. Since it's very thin, there can easily be overlays between textures. And finally, when trying to use less ink (so that it wouldn't seep through and cause a big dot - the absorbing quality is nice, but it was also somewhat of a challenge!) I used very little ink on the lettering, causing a scratchy, dry look.
Made in Adobe Draw on the iPad. So its vector. Autumn colors. I need flowers or other pretty stuff in my life now, to not run into the same old winter depression. Oh, why am I not born somewhere with more light? I don't like it, when we only have 8 light hours and they are not so light at all. And I don't like going by airplane to have a small holiday, since its bad for pollution. What to do? Flowers, lots of them..
I had a rock tumbler as a child and really enjoyed it. When my youngest was a child we bought her one. She was eager to enjoy it too, but somewhere after starting on that path, we lost track and it everything inside turned into a solid mass. We tossed it and forgot about it. On a recent beach trip, I collected handfuls of rocks, as I am always likely to do, and, upon return, remembered how I loved my childhood rock tumbler. I immediately researched, ordered and eagerly anticipated its delivery. Of course, with Amazon Prime, that was only a couple day’s wait. As soon as I unboxed it I thought “what am I doing?” I have neither time, nor space for yet another hobby. I thought “what will I DO with a pile of polished, pretty rocks?” I would gather them in my hands and feel their silky smoothness. I would likely gather them in some beautiful glass bowl and…then what? I have toddler grand kids frequently at my home. They put small colorful things in their mouths and up their noses and feed them to the dogs regularly. And I don’t even have a single space to display a bog bowl of pretty rocks. So I quickly decided “I’m Returning the Rock Tumbler” and will, for NOW, stick to painting them when the mood strikes.
It was supposed to be a blooming cherry tree but somewhere in the proccess it turned toward a scary dead tree like from Sleepy Hollow of Tim Robbins ;)
He is on the street walking... What is his name? I don't know. He is holding flowers and a black umbrella. Where is he going? I'm not quite sure. Maybe to somebody or maybe to somewhere. Made with Oil Pastels
The aspiring writer Wilkie Simmons came to Scholars Court 5 years back to finish his debut novel. Rarely seen in society, he works day and night hole up in apartment 6B. What sounds like talking to himself, he assures the concerned neighbor (somewhat jump
