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?
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.
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.
Luisa was my favorite character in this beautiful, fun Disney animation. I drew this in Adobe Fresco in about 6 hours. Still learning the program and testing brushes. Be sure to check out the time-lapse of the drawing on my Instagram. Cheers!
This is a little collage (did you know Maxfield Parrish invented collage, not Picasso?) of a characters from one of my children's books. I wondered if this would inspire a book. Not yet.
Who, what, where, why, and how? A complete blank slate. Today marks the first day of school, a stranger of its own. An open mind, an opportunity, an empty room.
Joseph Cornell (1903–1972)
Cornell worked nights at the kitchen table, sorting and assembling materials for his boxes. It was not easy going. Some nights he felt too fatigued from his day job to concentrate on his art and would sit up reading instead, switching on the oven for warmth. In the mornings, his quarrelsome mother would scold him about the mess he’d left at the kitchen table; without a proper workroom, Cornell was forced to store his growing collection of magazine clippings and dime-store baubles out in the garage.
In 1940 Cornell finally mustered the courage to quit his job and pursue his art full-time—and even then his habits changed little. He still worked nights at the kitchen table, while his mother and brother slept upstairs. In the late morning he would head downtown for breakfast at his local Bickford’s restaurant, often satisfying his sweet tooth with a Danish or a slice of pie (and lovingly cataloging these indulgences in his diary).
- From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey
#dailyrituals #inktober #JosephCornell @masoncurrey
