RECENT PORTRAITS

Just to show I'm not sitting around brooding guiltily all the time, heh heh, here are some recent portraits done for the ongoing Julia Kay's Portrait Party. If you go to my Flickr page there you can see bigger versions by clicking on each picture. And I'm nearly nearly done with the big Prism painting. 

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POST-ELECTION BLUES and a PORTRAIT PARTY

Very disappointed that the Lib Dems didn't get more votes after all the enthusiasm they generated during the campaign. Most of all I'm shocked by the outrageous excuses given for voters being turned away from many polling stations on election night: why isn't more fuss made about this in the media and everywhere? Supposedly, 'an inquiry is under way' but that just isn't good enough. If this were a third world country, there would be world-wide rumblings about ineptitude and conspiracies. But we're a civilised, sophisticated, efficient democracy, aren't we? 

PORTRAIT PARTY 

Some of us prefer art to politics and pay more attention to art than to reality and would rather play than work and can find hundreds of good reasons not to do the things we should be doing in favour of things that have no agenda other than fun. So when I saw on Walt's always fun-supporting blog a mention of Julia Kay's Portrait Party, of course I immediately had to go there and now I'm completely hooked. Here are my first three portraits of artist members of that vibrant ongoing all-day all-night party. I drew these digitally on a graphic tablet, using Artrage software for Wally and Blue Sky Day and Photoshop brushes for Allan. 

NdA Exhibition opens at Casa 5

It all went quite well yesterday, apart from the arrival of an uninvited horde of cockroaches a few hours before the private view in the gallery. A dozen or so were milling around the front door, obviously not art-lovers, so we attacked them with insect spray and in revenge, a whole army started crawling out, threatening to take over the premises. Much more insecticide and bashing with broomstick, then sweeping cockroach corpses out into the street. Who knows why the critters chose this particular day to emerge from wherever they were hiding, but emerge they did. Anyway by the time the real guests started arriving, the nasty intruders, dead and alive, were gone.

I exhibited 35 works on paper (works much appreciated but no sales)  plus a video interviewing some Tavira people in their surroundings. Here's a link to this video. I had to compress it a lot so it's not as sharp as the original, especially the written titles, but I hope you can still get the ambiance.

http://blip.tv/file/3281352

And below some photos of Casa 5 gallery walls before the opening. I didn't manage to take any photos while people were there, too busy chatting.

CLICK ON PICS TO ENLARGE

 

  

  

Portrait of Matthijs Leijenaar NdA Feb.2010  pastel on paper

 

 

  

  

MORE FROM TAVIRA

No time to write. The workshop went well, we did monoprints from collagraphs and monotypes from the ink left over on glass sheets after printing. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. Will post some results later. Now I'm preparing for my exhibition which opens on Saturday and lasts for the few days until I leave on March 3rd. Can't believe it's nearly all over!

Below is another painting, again from that cafe the earlier monoprint was about. It's called Anazu, not azul as I said before. And some more photos of Tavira.

CLICK ON PICTURES TO ENLARGE

Cafe Anazu  NdA  February 2010  Acrylic on paper

 

Uma Flor  Found poem, Tavira

Found profile on Tavira wall

Fishing boats on the Gilao river, Tavira

 

The view from Casa 5, Tavira

A PORTRAIT AND A CARNIVAL

Yesterday I did a portrait in pastels of Isabel Macieira, partner of Matthijs Leijenaar and co-director with him of Casa 5. I was going to work on it some more but am afraid I'll ruin it so am leaving it alone. These are not oil pastels but the dry chalky kind, lovely to work with for spontaneity as long as you don't smooth and fiddle too much. Next I'll do one of Matthijs. On Saturday I'm giving a workshop on monoprinting without a press. Will post some of the work produced then.

It was carnival here on the weekend, cold and raining on and off, but that didn't deter the high spirits. I was bundled up wearing three layers of clothes but some people didn't feel the cold at all.

 

 

SOME OF MY TAVIRA IMPRESSIONS SO FAR

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White Shawl, Tavira Cafe - NdA Acrylic on paper

 

Gallery, Casa 5  NdA  Coloured pencil on paper

Park, Tavira  NdA  Watercolour pencil on paper

Cafe Mira, Tavira  NdA  Watercolour pencil on paper

Cafe Azul  NdA  Watercolour pencil on paper

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TAVIRA TIME GOES BY

I can't believe I've already been here ten days! The sun is out and everything looks amazing and I want to do more than I'm doing - by more I mean less fiddling, more coherence, more simplicity. The devil is in the detail, yes, and it's devilishly difficult to resist the temptation of detail. I ruin a good start as soon as I start adding more detail, out of some kind of slavish obedience. Have just ruined the picture you see on the easel, of a woman with white shawl sitting in a cafe. That  was the start and it was okay. Now I've"finished" it and it's no good. Well, there'll be others. Not much time for blogging.

Click on photos to see full size.

1. Works in progress.
2. Tourists asleep in the sun.
3. Human made up as statue (he stands on the Roman bridge almost all day).

BEING TAVIREAN

So far, I've done a lot of walking, taken quite a few photos, done a few sketches and started one small painting. Something strange is going on inside me which is difficult to put into words. Let's just say that I'm trying to forget all that I know about art, about painting, about drawing - all those artist-voices past and present telling me what to do or not do. I want to shut them all up and just try to find out what it is that I'm interested in: is it light? Is it colour? Is it solid shapes? Is it faces? Is it space? Or none of those? I'd like to see like that dog sees.

The bottom photo is of the work table in my room at Casa 5.

TAVIRA SEQUEL

YESSSS!! 

In Tavira I noticed that there is an artists' association and gallery called Casa 5 and when I got back home I looked it up on the internet and found that they have an artists' residency programme. After a friendly exchange of emails, I sent in my application. 

Obviously I was just obeying orders from that cunning life-coach in the sky who thinks I need a kick up the cosmic derrière to propel me out of my little swivel chair in front of my little screen in my little London routine. Obviously my application was accepted. I'm all shook up!

So, around the middle or end of January I'll be going back for about five or six weeks, staying in Casa 5 and working on paintings, drawings, collage, video etc. based on Tavira - the town, the people, the ambiance, whatever inspiration strikes while I'm there - with an exhibition in the gallery at the end of my residency. I'll have my laptop and WIFI so blogging will continue, if perhaps intermittently (as usual). 

Here's an appropriate graffiti I discovered on a wall in Tavira - I didn't know when I took the picture that it would be so appropriate.

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POST-TAVIRA REPORT

POST-TAVIRA REPORT

Yes, the lion you saw in the slideshow is my cherished lion - or rather his sun-bleached and rain-battered twin. I was walking along the banks of the Gilao river in Tavira when I suddenly saw him, tied to the top of a brilliantly coloured fishing boat, looking around with a bemused expression. Call it coincidence, chance or destiny, but I find it thrilling that the twin of a stuffed lion I bought from an Asian shop in Camden Town should turn up to greet me on my very first day in a small town in Portugal. How likely is that?

Anyway, I fell in love with Tavira. Bits of it had a nostalgic familiarity, flashbacks of Paraguay or Brazil or Mexico. Other parts entirely different, Moorish, blue-tiled, whiter-than-white rough plaster walls, intricate baroque woodwork, latticed windows, and doors, doors! Amazing doors of every colour and texture, works of art in their own right. Short, human-size palm trees and very tall phallic ones, shaved so that only an ecstatic green tuft emerges from the crown, the rest of the bulbous trunk naked and scaly.

At this time of year the streets are quiet and the unpretentious cafés are frequented mainly by locals, a few polite tourists and expat residents. I sat there at ease, drinking café con leite, my forgotten Portuguese coming back in fragments, spattered with Spanish and Italian, and I thought: I could spend some time here, get back into painting, live the small-town life. The more I caressed this thought, the more exciting it felt so I got up, walked into a nearby estate agent's office and asked the dapper white-bearded man at the desk if he had any apartments to rent in the centre of town. He was Swedish, spoke perfect English, and said there were no rentals on his list at present but his colleague down the street might have some. He put a "Back Soon" sign on the door and walked out with me.

Just round the corner he pointed to the top floor of a balconied house, looking out towards the river and the Roman bridge. "There's an apartment for rent up there", he said. "Oh!" I said, "When could I see it?" "Right now," he said, "I have the keys". We walked up two or three flights and entered a delightful living room, marred only by an after-thought, a dangerously vertical wooden stairway in the middle, leading to a low-ceilinged loft bedroom with its own bathroom. Downstairs was another bedroom and bathroom and a modern kitchen. In a moment of madness I thought, yes, this is it! Fortunately the price was too high and that loft stairway too lethal.

Then we went into another agent's office across the street and the young Portuguese colleague said there were a couple of places he could show me. So my new Swedish friend and my new Portuguese friend together walked me around town and showed me two apartments, both affordable, with magnificent terraces. I said I was interested in renting for a couple of months, probably January-February, but the owner of the flat I liked best wanted a twelve-month tenancy and the other place seemed too big for me. I left my address with both agents and they said they'd let me know of anything that might come up.

When I met my brother for dinner later he was flabbergasted by my unexpected coup de foudre for Tavira and the speed of my action-on-impulse. Well, I said, if it happens it will only be for a couple of months and if it doesn't happen, that's okay. He was an excellent guide, though he only moved to Tavira in July (excruciatingly hot then and in August) and we went to his favourite spot, reached in about fifteen minutes by motorboat, the Ilha de Tavira - an idyllic island, endless expanse of pristine golden sands, deserted in winter, a nature reserve where batallions of gulls stand at attention, concentrating intensely on the waves crashing against the shore. What an error to say that birds are flighty! They are probably the most focused creatures I know of. I wish I was as focused as a bird.

Now I must focus on tasks back here at home, finish La Vie en Rosé and other unfinished things, and if there's a sequel to the Tavira adventure, of course I'll blog it. I might post some more snippets of video but there's far too much and it needs drastic editing. Strangely enough I didn't do any drawing, probably because it was too drawable and I didn't feel like adding to the vast heaving storehouse of picturesque postcardy scenes of picturesque postcardy locations all around the world.

If I ever do paint in Tavira, I would try to find a different way of communicating, filtering, translating my experience of the place into a visual language. That's what I find so fantastic in Van Gogh's paintings of Arles: they have become as popular and commercial as postcardy postcards, but the actual works are never merely picturesque. He focuses on the landscape or the chair or the sunflower with the same kind of attention that the gulls give to the waves, a hungry attention, purposeful, passionate, a desire to assimilate the object. Not at all the same as cool observation or skilful representation.

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WOMEN IN COMICS CONFERENCE, CAMBRIDGE NEW HALL, 25 October 2009

Chuffed to discover that Sarah McIntyre has posted some of my sketches on her blog . She was one of the speakers at this conference which I was very glad to have been able to attend on my return from France. I am not at all qualified to review such a comics-erudite event since my relationship to comics is intermittent and I'm an outsider in the vast family of comics creators who work in this medium full time and have made their mark in it. The sequential format does interest me very much indeed and I want to explore it much further (in my always-to-be-continued graphic novel) but there's a great deal of activity and information related to comics culture that I tend to pass by, probably to my detriment.
http://www.dominique-goblet.be/

Having been an artists' book-maker for a long time, the creators I respond to most are those whose approach and ideas are in that vein and who use sequential images as part of their visual/verbal art practice rather than as comics per se. Pages filled with small frames, each loaded with tiny text and drawings, no matter how appealing the story or concept irritate my eyes and brain. I prefer layouts which spread over the available space, flowing in and out of consciousness as time itself does. Such an artist is Dominique Goblet whose work I was excited to discover at the conference. I saw some of her books on the tables and bought one immediately: Souvenir D'Une Journée Parfaite - atmospheric, quirky, melancholy and moving on different levels of time, space, memory and emotion, beautifully expressed in monochrome drawings and an evocative, scratchily handwritten text. Hearing her later in conversation with Paul Gravett (top right in the photos below) confirmed the impression that my concerns and aims were very much in tune with hers. We will keep in touch and I hope to visit her studio in Brussels some time.

About Paul Gravett, no praise can ever be too high: he is responsible for stimulating interest in comics, encouraging innumerable comics artists in the UK and elsewhere and writing about comics critically, perceptively and knowledgeably. Back in the 1980's when I was producing and self-publishing my mini-series The Augustine Adventures (Small Packages) Paul was one of the first to review them in his magazine Escape and he has always been supportive. I think he has a pair of wings tucked away behind his shoulder blades, enabling him to appear wherever and whenever comics creators are assembled, lighting up the place with his good will and open-minded attention.

Sarah Lightman (who organised the conference along with Dr. Laurence Grove of the University of Glasgow) is another artist I've recently met whose work resonates with me. An exhibition of her diary drawings, In Memoriam, is currently in New Hall, focusing on ordinary objects (packets of biscuits, lace, toothbrush etc.) sensitively drawn in pencil, as conduits for autobiographical reflection. Each image has a pithy caption which leads you out of the object represented and into the artist's mind as she was drawing it. Sarah, along with illustrator Nicola Streeten, recently founded Laydeez Do Comics , a forum focusing on comic works based on life narrative, meeting once a month. I went along to one meeting and will be back for more.

I could write more about the conference but I'm going to stop here as I want to post this and get on with where I left off before I disappeared to France.

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MORE LUCID DOODLING

The felt pens encourage spontaneity and a nicely flowing line. Very enjoyable. The washable felts made for kids are no good. They dry up after about five minutes of heavy use, but the permanent markers are fine as long as you can stand the smell. Here are some more of my recent fishing expeditions in the stream of consciousness.

I've also added more bookworks so please go and click on the links you haven't seen before in the blue and red sidebars here .

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WHERE DO IMAGES COME FROM?

You're looking at a blank sheet of paper with no thought in mind, no desire to draw anything you see or anything you remember, and then you pick up a pen and start drawing. Lines and shapes emerge as your hand moves across the paper and pretty soon there is an image: something that didn't exist before, something that you didn't plan or intend and perhaps don't even understand. What's that all about? Is it like dreaming? Is it lucid dreaming? Lucid doodling?

Whatever you call it, isn't it wonderful and amazing that there really is another way of thinking which is not thinking at all but a kind of blanking? A sort of meditation which squeezes pictures out of you like toothpaste from a tube?

I've been drawing like that recently with felt pens on A3 sheets of paper. Here are two of them. The only digital alterations I've done are to add a black background to the bird of paradise drawing; the original is on white.

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TAGGED, MEEMED AND AWARDED

Being tagged by esteemed poet and friend Dick Jones of Patteran Pages is not something that can be brushed off and when it even includes an award, my reprehensible but unabashed need for attention spurs me to accept graciously. So, here's the award (thank you, Dick):

The rules: I must list seven things I love. Too few for me but here's a selection, in constantly changing order:

My family.

Being alone with a special person.

Food and conversation with close friends.

Dancing wildly by myself to groovy old 45rpm records.

Drawing or painting from life, anywhere.

Sitting in cafés writing or observing.

Making and editing a video on my Mac.

And I must now choose seven of my favourite blogs and pass on the award. If they accept, they must in turn repeat the whole process and link to me when doing so. It's very hard to limit myself since I have a blogroll and that's already my favourites. Here goes, but remember, anyone not included, I love you and award you too:

cassandra pages

via negativa

koshtra

never neutral

dem stimson

(Dem, maybe this will spur you to blog more often?)

porous borders

linda severn

(a brand new creative blogger I want to encourage and whom you should visit)

Over to you now.

HOW TO LOSE THE MYSTERY

I am ashamed of this stage. I hate it. I want to slash the canvas. I am posting it only as a lesson to myself, in order to give myself courage to proceed differently.

This is an example of exactly what I was saying not to do: losing the mystery, trying to "get it right", blah blah blah. Timidity, mediocrity, slavishness, fear of losing. I'm just plodding, plod plod. I don't care if you like it, I don't and I'm the one who decides.

This is not about pleasing others or being nice to one's self, non-judgemental. You have to be bloody judgemental if you're a painter and you know what you don't want to do and have at least an inkling of what you're trying to get at. I'm not talking about competence, skill, correctness, proportions, perspective, light & shade, any of those things, although what I'm talking about may or may not include them all.

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