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?
"Contemplation of the Jump" - drawn & colored in Escape Motions Rebelle.
My drawings are pretty random, but after I make them I think about them a bit... like... what is that girl in that cave room thinking and why is he going to jump?
I should probably know the answers... but I don't.
Three islands filled with people all alone out by the sea,
You see, I'd love to join them but there is no room for me.
That one guy climbed too high - I think they call him "Clumsy Paul?"
Soon there may be room for me... I'm just waiting for his fall.
From a snap of me sitting in the waiting room. Pencil, Charcoal Pencil, Pastel Pencils and white Prismacolor pencil on 9” x 12” Strathmore Toned Grey sketchbook paper.
The source reference image was from an impromptu photo shoot I did several years ago. The available light in the room was magical and the model was just sitting there meditating.
Pencil, Charcoal Pencil, Pastel Pencils on 9” x 12” Strathmore Archival Sketchbook Paper.
What started off as a mess up ended up as a cool doodle. I plan on putting it up on my bedroom wall, maybe Walton will feel less hollow since he'll have some good company. I think everyone has a little bit of Walton in them at one point or another..
My last finished painting of 2020. A morning in the woodlands of Ystradfawr Nature Reserve near my home. This is the final result of one of my colour sketches - Spring on the Line. It sold to lady in a care home who's lost her mobility. I hope it gives her a bit of the great outdoors when she's sitting in her room.
